


The Miracle Within

by DarkAbyss, imadreamysoul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Character Study, DeanCasMiniBang 2018, Developing Relationship, Family Bonding, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Original Character(s), Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s13e05 Advanced Thanatology, References to Depression, Spoilers, Team Free Will 2.0, references to witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAbyss/pseuds/DarkAbyss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadreamysoul/pseuds/imadreamysoul
Summary: Immediately following 13x05.The Winchesters just received the most unexpected of the calls and now their life is on the verge of undergoing another, perhaps just as radical change.After losing his mother and his best friend, Dean found himself in a very dark place, unable to share Sam’s stubborn hope that Mary might be alive and refusing to mourn Castiel. He’s been stuck between trying to cope with their losses, with the aid of unhealthy amounts of alcohol, and being unable to hold back his anger issues, of which Sam and Jack have become the unlucky main targets.The reunion with the angel, while, on one hand, shines a fresh ray of hope on the boys’ path, on the other puts a spotlight on the mistakes made in the previous weeks and brings up issues that have been ignored and avoided for too long. Cas is determined to reconnect with Jack and try to fix the relationship between Dean and the nephilim, together with helping his best friend to heal. This assuming that he can get through the older hunter first. Because getting Dean Winchester to talk about his feelings can turn out to be as hard as stopping the umpteenth apocalypse.Could a possible, spooky-looking case offer the chance to break the impasse?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is the story I ([DarkAbyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAbyss/pseuds/DarkAbyss)) and [imadreamysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadreamysoul/pseuds/imadreamysoul) have written for the 2k18 DeanCasMiniBang Challenge, with the cooperation of our assigned artist, [ShadowPaintedRose](http://shadowpaintedrose.tumblr.com) ([ShadowCas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowCas/profile) here on Ao3)!
> 
> While this is a case fic, the focus mostly stays on the introspection side. We thought that the changes that take place in the characters' demeanour, Dean's in particular, and in the their interactions after Castiel's return have been a bit too rushed. So, this is our attempt at expanding and exploring said shifts!
> 
> It's been quite an adventure, but it was worth it. We truly hope that you will enjoy the outcomes of your work!
> 
> You can find the link to all the art related to the story [HERE](http://shadowpaintedrose.tumblr.com/post/175452165462/the-miracle-within)! Please check out our artist's work. She makes some very nice artworks!
> 
> Also, just for the record, we split the story in two parts, to make it easier to read!
> 
> Questions and comments of every sort (as long as we respect each other) are welcome and encouraged. Feedback is gold for inspiration!
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Hello Dean…”_

Those two syllables had been enough to strike a new, weak but still bright spark inside Dean, a shaky hint of the same hope that had died in the dirt, together with the life of the only best friend he had ever had. The same hope he had thought that he would never feel again, just as he had believed that nothing would have ever been able to give him the chance to hear that voice once more. His body had moved on its own and a moment later the Impala was making a sudden, curt U-turn, tires screeching against the asphalt. What had followed, minutes or hours, he couldn’t have said, had been a haze of landscape rushing by and frantic thoughts.

The last few days - or maybe weeks, Dean wasn’t even aware of how much time had passed - had been a complete roller coaster for the hunter. His emotions had drifted between endless sadness, troubled anger and a cold emptiness. He had experienced grief before. He knew the feeling far too well, considering all the people he and Sam had lost since when they should have been too young to understand the real meaning of mourning. This time, though, something had been different. This time all the hope and the determination had disappeared in the same moment when his best friend’s life had faded away. For the very first time in his existence, the older Winchester felt like there was no way to fix the situation, that everything was lost. Hopelessness wasn’t a new for him either, but the feeling had never been so utter, deep and cutting.

Dean had learnt since the very start that he and Sam lived a very risky life, full of dangers, a life in which you were fated to lose most of the people you loved, so the deaths had eventually stopped surprising him. They still hurt, yes, but he had learnt to expect them to happen, one way or another. Had learnt that everyone left, sooner or later. It was the inescapable price they had to pay for their choices.

However, this time it had been very different. _These_ losses? They had shook his whole world. Their mother, who just came back from the dead, was gone once again, was out of reach, trapped in another, broken reality with _Lucifer_ of all people. She was gone, like a miracle that had burnt out before it could even start to feel real. Crowley, probably their best and worst ally, was dead and it was just so bitterly _ironic_ thinking about how many times he had wished that the fucking demon would just die and stop being a pain in their ass. The same demon who, at the end of the day, had perhaps gone out looking like more of a hero than the hunter himself was. And Castiel...The best friend they could ever ask for, the only stable thing in their life was lost too, for good. How was anything supposed to work after that? Dean had no idea and hadn’t even tried to look for an answer. He never did. He had always had his own ways to deal with stuff, more or less effective and pretty much destructive, but none of what he had tried had seemed to work. Not this time.

The hunter’s breath hitched slightly against his will, the quiet sound seeming far too loud despite the roaring of the engine. Even though he had managed to keep it more or less under control, at least if you asked him, because Sam would have surely disagreed, he had still welcomed his good old friend with open arms - _alcohol_. It was always the best, and also the easiest, thing to do, to lose himself in the liquor and in the oblivion it offered. Booze helped him to stop feeling the sorrow and the sadness, to forget, even if only for a moment, and it also was a perfect remedy for all the sleepless nights that had come back to haunt him. He chose that way to numb the pain each time everything became too much to ignore, no matter how bad the mornings after could be. The truth was that he didn’t really mind the hangover, the nausea and not even the vomiting, because from a twisted, masochistic point of view, being in pain was better than being constantly lost and apathetic.

His fingers tightened slightly around the wheel. The emptiness and the lost hope hadn’t been the only consequences of what had happened. Dean had _never_ been the calmest person. Rage had always been his first reaction in most situations, since he was just a bit more than a kid. It was a defensive mechanism he had developed to face the horror and the suffering that life had always shoved in his direction. However, this time his anger issues escalated to a point where they were almost out of control. And Sam, being the closest person to him, physically and emotionally, had soon, inevitably become the elected target of Dean’s violent mood swings.

The older hunter knew that his brother was worried sick, not without reason, and sometimes felt bad for snapping at him. He realised, in the few moments of calm lucidity he still had, that it was unfair from his part. However, for the most he couldn’t bring himself to care. Especially considering Sam’s delusional and naive hope that their mother could be still alive, despite the hard facts. It annoyed the hell out of him, both because seeing his sibling being able to hope when he couldn’t was like pouring salt on a open wound and because it made mourning Mary, for the second time, even _harder_ than it should have been. How was he supposed to let her go, if he was constantly bugged with the idea that she could be saved? Even if he didn’t agree, even if the thought was inconceivable to him, it still stuck in his head and _burnt_ , adding ghosts to his already sleepless, tormented nights.

A frown formed on Dean’s face at the thought. He would have been ready to consider that _maybe_ Sam had been right, that _maybe_ he shouldn’t have seen everything in such dark colors and should have let his brother’s optimistic attitude influence him a bit, if the younger man hadn’t been pushing it too far. The kid, Jack, was the problem. The _spawn of Lucifer_ , with his endless powers and the blood he had already spread the same day of his birth. A creature that should be leaking darkness from every pore, who did in Dean’s eyes, but his brother seemed to be unable to see the reality of facts, just as he couldn’t accept that their mother was lost. And his sibling, with his damned bleeding heart, hadn’t just chosen to be blind, but he had also taken up the role of Jack’s protective “uncle” Sam. There were so many wrong things in the picture that Dean didn’t know where to start from.

Once again, though, there had been nothing for him to do. The older hunter had been forced to live under the same roof with the person who was responsible for the death of the most important people in his life. How was he supposed to deal with that? He hadn’t been able to stop himself from blaming the nephilim for every bad thing that had happened around them, even if, deep, _deep_ down, he had understood that Jack was more of a victim than a guilty party. Maybe he, Dean fucking Winchester, was the real monster there, the weak, broken man who was using the poor boy as a scapegoat because the guilt was too heavy for him to bear.

That thought got stuck in his head for a moment, just as his breath got caught in his throat once again. What if Jack hadn’t lied to Cas? And if Kelly had been right? What if Sam wasn’t as delusional as he thought he was? If his brother was able to see what he couldn’t see because he wasn’t blinded by rage and regret? If that had been true, then he would have been such an unfair asshole to everyone. Not that it was news, but this time it would have been much worse. It would have meant that he had acted selfishly and shut everything out right when he had been needed the most. How would he have found the courage to meet his sibling’s and best friend’s eyes ever again, knowing that he had, for the umptheenth time, made the wrong choice just because he hadn’t been strong enough to keep a grip on his reality? And, speaking of Castiel…He would be so deeply _disappointed_ with him, knowing how he had treated the boy. Damn, if the kid had chosen to turn dark side, he would have had himself to blame for it, at least in part, because he had pushed him away, sticking in his head the idea that he _had_ to be evil, just because he had the king of the sons of a bitch as a father. So much for doing the right thing.

The hunter’s eyes focused back on the road as he realised that he had missed the turn he was supposed to take. He muttered a curse under his breath and saw Sam shifting with the corner of his eye. His shoulder tensed immediately, afraid that his brother would say something and use the pretext to start a conversation he wasn’t ready to have, but luckily the younger hunter, perhaps guessing that it wasn’t the right moment, remained quiet and Dean found that he could suddenly breathe a bit better once again.

He and Sam, while sharing the same stubborn bad tendency to keep their issues for themselves, had completely different ways to go around things most of the times. The older Winchester was often annoyed by his sibling’s constant need to talk about more or less everything, but he was also glad that the other knew when it was better for him to shut up and let him be. That was yet another way in which his brother showed himself to be much more capable to deal with the shit that happened to them than he was. Not that Dean would ever admit it out aloud.

The older hunter shook his head slightly, sucking in a quiet breath. While he had been half lost in his thoughts, they had got closer and closer the outskirts of the town where Castiel had said he was and, now that his mind was finally starting to focus back on reality, he was starting to realise how nervous he felt. The feeling was like a grip just above the pit of his stomach, a mixture of uncertainty and lingering dread. Even after hearing that voice, the one he would have recognised among a thousand others, he still was having a hard time believing that it was true, that he had his best friend back. A part of him was trying to make him wonder about how it was possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to really give a damn. Blessing or curse, deal or gift, he would take it, no matter the price. They would pay it, one way or the other. Because, after all, this might be the sign he had been waiting for.

He licked his lips, finding them as dry as his throat felt. That was where his certainty ended and the doubts and insecurities started. Castiel’s return could be what would prove everything he had done since the angel’s death wrong, shoving all the consequences and the guilt on him just as he feared. However, that was hardly what he was worried about. He was used to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, literally even. The problem was that he couldn’t tell how exactly he felt about the news. He was happy, of course, in a weird, shaky, disbelieving way, but the emotions that the thought brought to him were simply too intense. He was too drained, too hollowed, too unstable to handle them. He felt like he would have crumbled into pieces if he had forced himself to think about what was about to happen. Paradoxically, he felt almost more _scared_ than eager, despite his first reaction to the call having been turning his Baby around and rush to meet his revived friend. He was scared that it would turn out to be a delusion of his fucked up, sleep-deprived mind. Scared that this one needed win wouldn’t have fixed him, as he hoped, as he _prayed_ it would. Scared that seeing Castiel alive would be as intense as seeing him dead, because he knew that he couldn’t have taken it.

He bit the inner side of his cheek. There was something else that heavied his mind, even if he had tried not to think about it. He had achieved it easily before the call, because the emptiness and the anger had prevailed over anything else, but now that the loss he had experienced might have not been as complete as he had been led to believe, it was harder to ignore. Castiel, was, together with Sam, the most important person in his life. He had expected the pain, he had expected the guilt, he had expected to feel like a piece of his soul had been ripped out. He had gone through that loss already. It was hardly the first time the angel had ended up dead. He had lost his brother a few times too. And yet, his reaction had been different, this time. Perhaps it was the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to get him back, perhaps it was the fact that he had lost so much all together. Still, there had been a new, obscure feeling in the mix. A peculiar kind of regret, the one that came with the loss of those once-in-a-lifetime chances, the one that told you that you had waited too long and lost that moment you’ve been waiting since forever. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, or maybe he didn’t want to, and the feeling confused the hell out of him.

He slowed down a bit as they finally entered the town. The impulse to rush at all speed was still strong and present, despite the heavy emotions that were storming inside him, but he ignored it. He just wished for some closure, to find something that could finally allow him to get back on his feet. He didn’t need another crisis, or any kind of epiphany that could shake his world yet again. He wanted the stability he had never really had in his life and he _needed_ it, even just temporary, to put up with everything that had happened and with what was waiting ahead of them.

He almost laughed at the idea. He knew that he was asking for the moon, because he didn’t deserve anything close to it, but he was also aware that he couldn’t go on as he had been doing in the last years. He couldn’t keep standing always on the edge, torn between the exhilaration of the risk and the fear of the fall. The small blinks of light in the darkness that mostly reigned over his life weren’t enough anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. He needed someone to come and shine a beacon over him, to chase the shadows of his nightmares because his strength wasn’t enough anymore, especially if he wanted to keep fighting for Sam too, as he had always done. And yet, he wasn’t sure he would be able to deal with the way that saving ray of light could have presented itself. It would have been too troublesome, it could have required him to change his view more than he was ready to do.

Sam shifted again next to him and he realised that his brother was looking out for the names of the streets. The blue glow of a cross-shaped neon lamp was casting a weird hue all around, making the dim light look almost unnatural, as if it was part of a dreamscape and not of the real world.

The realisation hit him as a punch in the stomach and he instinctively slowed the car down even more. They had arrived. There was no more time for thoughts and hesitation. He would have to take whatever would come to him and make it be _enough_. No matter the terms, the cost, the unwanted meanings.

As soon as the Impala came to a stop, Dean was out of the car, not wanting to waste any more time, despite the doubts still lingering in the back of his mind. His feet carried him forward, almost without his consent, and he stopped few meters away from the angel, staring at the man carefully for a moment, collecting himself.

Castiel looked…good, considering that the last time Dean saw him he had been very _dead_. He couldn’t forget or chase away that image of his friend, lying lifeless on the ground, from his mind. He probably would have never been able to get the picture out if his head, not even now that the angel seemed to have come back to them, not completely at least. He had seen him like that every time he had closed his eyes, every single day. Getting rid of a similar nightmare would take time. After all, he still had visions of his time in Hell, even if those episodes were rare nowadays. Yet, seeing Castiel alive and well felt as if a giant burden had been taken off his chest. It made breathing much easier. He had almost forgotten that it wasn’t supposed to feel as if he was choking more or less every time the air entered his lungs. Better to focus on that sensation.

He blinked, realising that he had once again got lost in his thoughts. The fact made him feel like an idiot, but he discarded it quickly. Maybe Castiel being back wouldn’t magically fix all their problems, because there was no way that a single thing, no matter how wonderful, could delete the damage made during half of a lifetime, but it was a damn good start. It was a big win and Dean was determined to treat it as such.

“Cas, is that really you?” The hunter eventually breathed out, even though he could already tell who was standing in front of him. He would have recognized him anywhere. He didn’t really need a confirmation, despite the part of his mind that couldn’t help thinking that it was too good to be true. It was a small voice he knew very well, an ever-present traitorous whisper that always made itself known whenever something apparently positive happened, pushing him to think either that it wouldn’t last or that something else, worse than what had happened before, would ruin it. However, for the most, he found that he had asked the question just because wanted to hear Castiel’s voice again. All the emotions he was feeling were becoming a booming chaos and were driving him crazy.

He wasn’t exactly sure of how to act, so he let his instinct guide him. After all, if there was a trait of his personality that no one would ever be able to deny, it was that he was an impulsive person. That characteristic had put him in troubles plenty of times, but it had also saved his life and helped him find a solution just as often. He trusted his guts, more than he trusted his head most of the time. Besides, instinct had always been able to lead him when his reason couldn’t.

“No. You’re -- you’re dead,” Sam gasped out in complete shock, not believing his eyes. He was very happy to see their best friend alive and back with them again, but he also knew, as well as Dean did, that in their life good things didn’t come without a price. Castiel’s sudden resurrection brought forth many questions in Sam’s head and, while they demanded an answer, the younger hunter wasn’t completely sure that he wanted one. They had already too much to deal with in that moment. More problems would just exasperate an already too complicated situation.

“Yeah, I was. But then I annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back,” Castiel explained softly and calmly, walking over to them and looking pretty proud of himself as he spoke. 

He offered Sam a small and reassuring smile. He understood that it was an odd situation for them all. He had been utterly confused too when he had woken up in the Empty and he still had some troubles wrapping his head around the fact that he had actually succeeded in regaining his freedom, but it wasn’t important in his eyes. What mattered was that he had made it back to the people he cared about and who needed his help.  
Sam shifted slightly on his spot. He didn’t want the angel to take it the wrong way, to think that he wasn’t delighted to have him back, but he was at loss of words. The reply their friend had offered said everything and nothing. It answered his main inner question, the “how”, but it didn’t explain anything at all. They had faced plenty of situations that made little to no sense, but in that moment everything was so uncertain and edgy that, despite his will to believe and be optimistic, he would have rather having something more solid and understandable he could cling on.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he confessed after a moment of silence. It wasn’t the answer he would have wanted to give, it made him feel a bit bad too, but it was the honest truth.

Dean groaned internally and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at his brother’s hesitant reaction. So _now_ Sam decided to be reasonable and sceptical? After having tried so hard and for so long to convince Dean that their mother could still be alive and that they could be able to save her? After they had fought over and over on his sibling’s belief that Lucifer’s child could turn out to be a good person? Now that they were facing something that was without doubt a good thing, no matter the consequences, one they could agree on, Sam was being suspicious? There were so many things that get on his nerves about the fact, but he chose not to dwell on the younger man’s behaviour. He wouldn't allow such a stupid, meaningless detail to ruin their reunion. So, instead of voicing his disapproval, Dean decided to ignore Sam and his inner irritation and to greet Castiel properly this time.

“I do,” he claimed with force. “Welcome home, pal.” And, completely sure and without any hint of hesitation, he walked over to Cas and pulled him into a hug. For the briefest moment, he seemed to lean in, as if he had been about to kiss Castiel’s cheek, but he ended up just wrapping his arms around him tightly. However, he couldn’t resist the temptation of burying his head in the crock of the angel’s neck. It felt so easy and absolutely _right_ to hold him in his arms now, considering that, till few hours earlier, he had been more than sure that he would have never got another chance to see the other again, let alone touch him.

Dean allowed his eyes to slide close for a moment. He was extremely aware of the emotions showing on his face, and he was infinitely grateful that there was no one else there to see him and that he was giving Sam his back, meaning that his brother wouldn’t have been able to see his expression either. He knew that the younger man wouldn’t have judged or even mentioned the fact, but he would have hated being more exposed than he already was. He was already having a hard time with all those damned feelings. Relief, lightness and happiness mixed with a bit of pain, agitation and confusion. However, for the moment, the negative sentiments were nothing compared to the bright, positive ones, so it was easy for him to push them aside, leaving them for a quieter, alone time, and, even though he tried his best to hide it, he couldn’t fight back the soft smile that touched his lips.

The thought of the many problems still to be faced and of the still bleeding wounds hadn’t left his mind, he hadn’t forgotten about them. However, everything seemed lighter and easier with Castiel there, solid and real and alive, so very different from the ghostly figure that had haunted his mostly sleepless nights.

The awareness reminded him that he had never really told his best friend how important he was for him, how much his presence helped. He had known that for awhile and regretted not reminding it to the angel as often as the other most likely deserved. It had always been a huge lack from the hunter’s part and a big mistake in the last period, considering how useless and powerless Castiel had been feeling while they were fighting Amara. It was the reason why he had accepted Lucifer’s offer and one of the motivations that had made him choose to protect Kelly and Jack. The angel has always felt like he needed to prove himself and his value, that he _had to_ redeem from his mistakes and he and Sam had never really tried to make him understand that he didn’t need to do everything by himself. Perhaps, if they had, things would have been different. Maybe they could have spared some pain to them all.

_‘Why did I say pal, dammit?’_

The question intruded in his thoughts, without notice, and echoed in his mind, for some reason he didn’t really understand. He could tell that there was something in the word that didn’t fit, as if it wasn’t meant to define what Castiel was for him. It was _reductive_ , he knew that, but that wasn’t the reason why it sounded so out of place. He tried to give it some thought, but he couldn’t wrap his head around it and let it go. That was the umpteenth thing he would have to keep for another moment, one that could be good for contemplation. Assuming that he wouldn’t have gone back acting as he usually did and ignoring every single issue that had come to his mind in the last few hours. Avoiding problems had always been the easiest, most instinctive choice, even if at the end of the day it didn’t really lead him anywhere.

When Dean finally let go of Castiel, it was Sam’s turn to go for a hug. The younger hunter had chosen to push all his doubts and uncertainties and he was smiling a bit more, showing how genuinely happy he truly was. He had caught a glimpse of annoyance in his older brother’s expression when he had acted so hesitantly and he had decided that, for the first time since they had lost everyone, he agreed with what had to have been the other hunter’s thoughts. He was ruining a moment that should have been made of relief and joy. And if even Dean had been able to grasp that, despite all the dark moods his sibling had been sporting in the last weeks, then he shouldn’t allow his own bad thoughts to get in the way either.

The smile on Sam’s face brightened a bit. There was another fact that had to be considered. If the angel had come back, then why couldn’t have others too? He had been hopeful for the whole time, had forced himself to be also because Dean had been anything but, and now that thought had made his optimistic view feel stronger and more real. He hadn’t been deluding himself as he had been accused of doing. They had got Castiel back and it could have been taken as a sign. A sign that good could win again, that there was still hope for their mother, that Jack could be bright as Kelly was and as, according to what other angels had often implied, Lucifer himself had once been.

“How long was I gone?” Castiel asked once he was released, looking a bit overwhelmed but also guilty.

He had known that getting himself killed would have hurt the Winchesters to some extent, but he hadn’t realised how bad it could have been. He had completely underestimated their reaction. And now he was starting to understand that, perhaps, he had never truly grasped how much he meant to the brothers. It had taken one glance at Dean to see that he had been wrong. In same moment when their gazes had met, he had noticed that there was something not right. He spotted a deep, consuming darkness in older hunter’s eyes before Dean had been fully hit by the realisation that he was once again standing in front of him. That alone had made it all clear. Dean was very _not_ fine, hadn’t been for some time, and it was a “not fine” that Castiel had never seen before.

The enormity of his rushed choice had fell on his shoulders, as the umpteenth burden and regret he would carry with him till the day he would be annihilate and never wake up was dumped on him. The last thing he had ever wanted was to bring even more pain in his best friend’s life, and yet that was what he had accomplished, against his will and despite all his best intentions.

“Too damn long,” were the words that left the older Winchester’s lips and they were also the strongest confirmation of Castiel’s reflections.

The man spoke with innocent honesty, oblivious of the angel’s thoughts, letting the words out as if they were the most natural thing to say. And yet there was also an evident note of pain and longing in his tone. For that reason, the hunter was tempted to avoid eye contact with his best friend at first, but he quickly discarded the idea. He knew that the angel could see right through him anyway, no matter how hard he tried to hide his feelings. Besides, denying and minimizing wasn’t the right thing to do. He was happy that his best friend was back, so much that he couldn’t describe it, and this time he wanted to make sure that Castiel would know that he had been dearly missed. He had had enough of keeping his emotions under strict control, of stopping himself from saying or doing the things he wanted to say and do, just to regret that choice later on. He had had enough of putting on different masks just to protect his masculinity or shield himself from his true feelings. Castiel deserved the truth as much as Dean deserved to be himself without being afraid. Afraid of things that, at the end of the day, didn’t even matter.

The hunter felt a small shiver running down his spine. Maybe, that was why he had chosen, more or less consciously, to not really hide how bad Castiel’s death hit him, not in the past weeks with Sam and not now with Castiel himself. To him, it had felt like the whole world had stopped making sense. Perhaps he should also try and start accepting the fact that it wouldn’t be easy to pull himself back together again, even now that the empty space left behind by his best friend had been filled once again. This time, maybe, he wouldn’t be able to fix himself without having to ask for help. He hated the mere thought, because of that pride that had always pushed him to walk on his own, even when it could have killed him. However, he was also aware that he would need to, if it came to that. Too much had been already lost and too much was still at stake. He couldn’t afford to lose, not again.

“Where were you? In Heaven?” Sam continued to ask while Dean was deep in thoughts. He might have decided to keep his doubts at distance, but he was still curious. He knew that humans went to either Hell or Heaven when they died and that monsters went to Purgatory. But angels? It was a mystery. He would have been tempted to say that they just disappeared from existence, but the fact that their friend had come back from the dead more than once seemed to indicate that there was more to it.

Castiel shook his head. He had been expecting to have to offer explanations since when he had first woken up back on Earth. However, he wasn’t sure that he had enough information to be able to satisfy the inquiries he would be asked. “No. No, I was in the Empty.

“Really?” Dean interjected. Hearing his brother’s and the angel’s voices had snapped him out of his thoughts and he had decided that it was better to join the conversation, instead of keep struggling with himself. Besides, now that he had finally overcome the initial emotional shock, he was getting rather worried about his best friend. Were had he been? What had happened to him? Was he really as okay as he looked?

“Apparently, it’s where angels and demons go when they die,” Castiel explained. Perhaps the definition was a bit too obvious, but he wouldn’t have been able to add anything more. That was what the Entity had told him. The Entity had been hardly forthcoming. Not that the angel was surprised, considering that all it seemed to care about was to be able to stay asleep for the rest of eternity.

Sam nodded slightly. So there was yet another world. The knowledge didn’t surprise him, not after they had found out that a probably endless number of parallel universes existed in the continuum. “What was it like?”

“Well, it’s dark and empty. It’s like...nothing.” There weren’t other words to describe the world Castiel had seen, in any of the languages the angel knew. It was just...empty, as its name suggested. “I was sleeping, and then I heard a voice saying my name, and I woke up. I thought you had done something.”

The brothers looked quite shocked at the description and a bit moved too. This Empty did sound like a bad place. A very dark, very lonely place, devoid of life and light. A place for everything and everyone destined to disappear and eventually to be forgotten. It was a fate worse than death itself. Two pair of eyes, one hazel and one green, quickly scanned the angel’s figure. At a superficial glance Castiel looked fine, but the Winchesters now knew better. They had spent enough time with their friend to understand that he had experienced something devastating, both by dying and by waking up in that empty afterlife, and that he would need his own time to heal too.

“No, we didn’t even think we could bring you back,” Dean stated, shaking his head. He tried to keep a steady, calm voice, but it quickly became obvious, even despite the small number of words he had spoken that he felt like it had been his fault in the first place.

They hadn’t been able to bring Castiel back. He had tried, he was aware of it, but no matter how many times he had dared God himself, nothing had happened, till that moment. The fact of not having given up without trying, though, didn’t make him feel any less guilty, especially since the angel had instantly believed that it had been their doing. It didn’t feel right because the truth was that they had been prepared to let go, or at least that Sam had made peace with the idea while he had pretended to be capable of such a thing, while in truth he would have never been ready to take that step, not even in a thousand years. Still they had. They had even had burnt his body. They should have done more, tried harder or at least waited before deeming the mission impossible.

“So who was it? Chuck -- Uh, God?” Sam asked, with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Dean almost shot his sibling a glare at the question. Rationally he knew why the younger hunter kept pushing the subject, that they shouldn’t leave such a big interrogative unsolved, but the truth was that he didn’t really care as much as he should. Castiel was back, that was the core of the matter and the only part he wanted to consider. He didn’t give a damn if it had been God’s work or the Devil’s.

It was the angel’s turn to shake his head. He had had a hard time believe what he was about to say too, but, after all, starting from the mess that had been the Apocalypse, he had learnt that his Father wasn’t omnipotent.  “No, no. He has no power in the Empty…”

The older hunter raised an eyebrow slightly. It hadn’t been them and apparently it hadn’t been Chuck either. It couldn’t have been a random demon because no creature of the Pit could do what God couldn’t. Nor any angel for the same reason. Who was left? Amara perhaps?

“Well, then, who does?” He asked, even if he had the feeling that Castiel didn’t have an answer.

A moment of thick silence passed and then it turned out that there was no need for the angel to reply because both Winchesters suddenly seemed to have the same revelation at the same time. Their reactions, though, were very different. Sam’s eyes light up with understanding and a hint of awe, while Dean’s widened in incredulous horror. It was the only plausible explanation.

“Jack,” the younger hunter stated, voicing their shared thoughts, his tone expressing both the shock and the pride that were visible on his face. If that was true, then all he had chosen to believe in could be possible. He had the evidence that the nephilim could do more than just accidentally causing troubles and spreading blood, that the kid could be taught to be good and to do good, for himself and for the world. Just as Kelly had wanted and believed.

Dean, on his part, felt like his heart had just sunk into his stomach once again. All that time he had seen the boy as the responsible for Castiel’s death and now it turned out that he had been his saviour instead? It couldn’t be true. Or rather, it was very likely that it was, considering all the raw power that the kid had. Also, none of them were aware of other, as powerful beings, so Jack was pretty much the only option they hadn’t ruled out. The fact that the hunter didn’t want to believe it for his selfish reasons wouldn’t change the reality of what had happened.

He hardly resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands. How was he supposed to meet the boy’s eyes now? After all he had done and said to him? The guilt reached such a high level for a moment that he couldn’t catch a proper breath. He felt so _sick_. Sick and disappointed in himself. What he had become? He had been so blinded by hate to be unable to even just consider that, maybe, all the negativity he saw in Jack was just a reflection of what he himself had inside. Of his mourning, of his pain. He had been so full of anger and sufferance that he had chosen not to allow hope to the kid, just because he himself felt like there was none left. This time he didn’t even have the Mark of Cain to blame for his sudden fall into the darkness. He clenched his fists by his sides. Was he even worth the help he would need to get better? Assuming that such thing would be possible? He felt like a lost cause, one of those cases that not even a miracle could have saved.

“Uh, listen, why don’t we get all in the dark and go back to the Bunker?” Sam interjected, interrupting the heavy silence that had fallen after he had spoken the nephilim’s name.

The younger Winchester hadn’t missed the way in which Dean’s shoulders had tensed and he could picture very well what had to be going on in his brother’s mind. He was tempted to reach out for him, to try and comfort him, even if he knew that it wouldn’t have done much, not while his sibling was in that state. However, he didn’t dare. Not with Castiel there. The angel had no idea of how Dean’s relationship with Jack was and the last thing he wanted was for the other two to have a fight after they had just reunited.

“Speaking of Jack, he will surely be excited to meet you,” he finished, addressing Castiel only this time. His was a huge understatement. He could hardly imagine how overjoyed the kid would be, finding out that he could meet the father he had thought lost forever.

Dean nodded slightly at the suggestion. He wasn’t eager to go back to the Bunker, knowing that Jack, the material incarnation of the new, heavy guilt that had just been added to the already considerable burden on his shoulders, would be there. However, temporising wouldn’t help anyone, as hiding from the inevitable wouldn’t. As he had feared, he might have just been proven wrong about the nephilim and he might be about to have to admit that Sam had been right since the very start, while he had been wrong.

He swallowed quietly. The issue wasn’t just been wrong, though. It was how he had acted and what _that_ said of him. It was what Castiel would have thought of him once he would have heard what he had done and claimed. It was that he would have to find the guts to tell Jack that he was sorry and that he wanted to make it up to him. He was afraid that the two wouldn’t forgive him completely, but, if he had to be honest, he felt sicker at the thought that they would have not just forgiven, but excused him too, because he didn’t deserve that kindness and understanding. He hadn’t deserved it before acting like a destructive, complete asshole and he sure as hell didn’t deserve it now.

Castiel eyed the two hunters, not missing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. If the air had been thick when the humans had got off the Impala and joined him, now it was much, much worse. Something had to have happened, something he would learn soon enough. Something he wouldn’t like, considering Dean’s reaction. The look that Sam had shot his brother, a mix of worry and compassion, had just confirmed that suspicion. However, he decided not to ask. He would wait for them to fill him in with everything he had missed and he was sure that, whatever the issue was, it would come up, eventually.

“I am eager to meet him too,” he simply stated, not voicing his thoughts, but choosing to be honest about another part of what he was feeling now. _Jack_. He hadn’t even met the boy, not in person, and yet he already felt so many complicated emotions for him. He was thrilled to meet him, to look into the eyes of the being whom might be able to make Earth the paradise it was supposed to be without having to destroy it. At the same time, though, he was afraid because he feared that he could have disappointed the boy. The words that Sam had spoken seemed to suggest that the nephilim already thought very highly of him, whether because he had inherited Kelly’s endless trust in him or for his own reason. What if he couldn’t live those expectations up?

“Besides, I wouldn’t mind spending some time in a familiar place,” he finished, as he started to follow the two hunters to the car. He wouldn’t admit out aloud that the void of the Empty had unsettled him so much, but it was the truth. Landing back on Earth had helped, but he still felt unsteady on his feet, as if he was waiting for the ground to crumble under him and to deliver him back into that shapeless blackness once again. He hoped that seeing a place that was familiar and that held a strong significance for him would help calming his inner agitation.

He walked around the Impala, his eyes wandering towards the stars for a moment, or at least towards the few that were visible in the light pollution, before moving downwards slightly. He blinked, realising that Dean had been staring at him from above the roof of the car. The hunter, though, instantly looked away and hurried to get inside, preventing the angel from speaking a word and leaving him no alternative but to follow suit.

From his spot in the passenger seat, Sam rested his chin on the palm of his hand and bit back a sigh, pretending not to have witnessed the abruptly interrupted interaction. That would be a very long trip.

 

*****

 

The trip back to the Bunker turned out to be just as long and difficult, at least under certain points of view, as Sam had thought it would have been. The air inside the car got thicker and thicker as the time passed and the younger Winchester found himself charged with the task of explaining what had happened in the last few weeks. He narrated everything from the very start, beginning from the moments immediately after Castiel’s death and with how Mary had ended up in the other dimension and how Jack had escaped.

It wasn’t easy, at all, and Sam would have loved to get some support, but of course Dean seemed content with leaving him all the work. He managed through the whole tale, even if he had a few moments of hesitation, for example when he had to tell Castiel that they had decided to burn his body because they thought that he was gone forever or when he had to describe Dean's and Jack's relationship. From how careful his tone became while he spoke of the latter subject, it was clear that he was aware of the consequences that his words would have on his brother’s and the angel’s relationship. Still, he decided not to hold back or sugared the pill, also because, from the glare that the older hunter shot him when he tried to, he could tell that his sibling wouldn’t have allowed it.

Dean, from his part, remained mostly silent, even if interjected from time to time, either to correct Sam when the latter said something he found out of place or to make some unnecessary sarcastic comment. The only time when he tore his eyes away from the road and truly stepped into the otherwise one-sided conversation was when he realised that Sam was more or less purposely trying to smooth out the rougher angles of his and Jack’s relationship. He turned and shot his brother a warning, deep look. The other held it for a moment, but eventually gave in and resumed his speech, leaving almost nothing out.

Eventually, the younger Winchester’s voice died down, as he ran out of things to say, and the thick silence fell over them once again, disturbed only by the roaring of the engine. The quietness was heavy and uncomfortable, even if not completely tense, but no one dared to break it. Sam had turned his eyes out of the window, choosing to watch the landscape passing by, while Dean once again kept his own gaze locked on the road, mouth drawn in a thin line.

Castiel too remained quiet, after the hunter had finished to speak. He knew that Sam was ready to answer his questions, if he had chosen to ask any, but the angel had decided to keep them for later, wanting to metabolise the information first. It was a lot to take in, a lot to think about, especially after what he had just been through. He needed time to wrap his head around it. They all did.

He had listened very attentively to Sam and had allowed the younger hunter to take his time, waiting patiently whenever the human hadn’t been able find his words and had been forced to stop. He hadn’t pressed, understanding how hard it had to be for the man to speak about certain events. Mary’s disappearance before anything else, but also the moment in which he and Dean had chosen to give up on him, burning his vessel. His friends had been mourning all that time, while he was locked in the Empty, for so many losses. He could relate. He knew what it meant to lose your family, because he had gone through the same experience, more than once. The very first time had been after the Fall, when God had disappeared, leaving behind only uncertainty and a plan that was as mysterious as incomprehensible. Then there had been all the times he had chosen Earth and the Winchesters over Heaven. However, in those following occasions, the choice had been a bit easier, because, while he had been losing the Host, he had also found a new family, among the same humans he had chosen to fight for.

His line of thoughts had been interrupted when his attention had been captured by the weird exchange of glances that had taken place between the two hunters, once Sam had reached the topic of Jack. Castiel hadn’t missed how the younger Winchester had abruptly changed his tone and way of speaking about the kid after Dean had glared at him, silently telling something that the angel, at least at first, hadn’t been able grasp. If he had to be honest, while for the most his friends’ ability to communicate with each other without speaking, as if they had a secret language only for the two of them, fascinated him, at times it could be extremely frustrating, because it made him feel like he was constantly missing something.

A small hint of confusion had appeared on the angel’s face, but he had kept listening very attentively as Sam had told him what had happened after the two humans had managed to find the nephilim and persuade him to stay with them, at the Bunker. However, this time his gaze, instead of staying locked on the younger hunter, had kept wandering back to Dean. He knew that what he was missing that concerned his best friend and that suspicious had been confirmed when he had seen the dark expression on the man’s face deeping once again. The shift in the other’s stance had been so evident that Castiel had been able to spot it even if the human had kept stubbornly facing away from him. And, as the tale had gone on, the angel had received an answer to his doubts, as well as he had finally understood why the two brother had had such different reactions when they all had realised that the merit for his resurrection was most likely Jack’s.

A frown had started to form on Castiel’s face at that point and had remained in place even after Sam had been done talking and the silence had fallen on the car. Apparently, not only Dean had believed Mary to be lost for good and had, for what he had been able to read between the lines, taken the angel’s own death much harder than Sam had, but also he seemed to have chosen to use the nephilim as his personal scapegoat. The older Winchester had refused to believe that there could be any light inside Jack, just because he was Lucifer’s son, despite what he and Kelly had told the brothers, despite the good will the kid himself had showed. Dean had chosen to acknowledge none of that and had carried on with his own adamant point of view, without considering, even once, that he could have been mistaken. At least not until the moment when Castiel himself had come back, shattering all the hard wannabe truths the man had been clinging to as if his life depended on it. And, in a way, it had.

The angel closed his eyes, biting back a sigh. He could imagine how the older hunter had to be feeling right now and he knew him well enough to be sure that Dean would beat himself up endlessly over the mistakes he had made in the last few weeks and over the possible consequences that his choices, luckily, hadn’t had. He now could understand why the man was having so many troubles looking at him, why he had suddenly started to look dejected and afraid. He was probably scared of Castiel’s judgement and surely felt unworthy of the forgiveness the angel was already ready to offer.

He turned his head to look out of the window. Getting through his stubborn best friend would be even harder than the usual this time, because he would have to sidestep all the open wounds, the guilt, earned and misplaced, and Dean’s enhanced self-contempt and insecurities. Not to mention that Castiel himself had his own traumas and metaphorical demons to battle. The meeting with the Entity had left him shaken in a way he had never experienced before and he was aware that, this time, he wouldn’t have been able to just put his inner issues behind him without having fully faced them. And, until he hadn’t achieved his own peace of mind, at least in part, he wouldn’t have been able to properly dedicate himself to his best friend. However, he wanted to try and have faith, just as he had after Jack had shown him a better world, a world he still wanted to think as at arm’s reach. It would take time, but he had strong hopes that he and Dean would be able to meet in the middle, somehow. It was the only way in which they would be able to help each other to heal.

That latter thought somehow eased the angel’s mind and he kept watching the landscape going by before his eyes, his shoulders relaxing a bit. He would deal with his and Dean’s situation later, when the time would be right. He needed to wait for when the older Winchester would have calmed down, at least in part, and become more open to talk, for when they would be alone. For now, he would let it rest. After all, there was another, more urgent situation he would soon need to face. _Jack_.

Castiel felt something constricting in his chest as the nephilim’s name echoed in his mind. Apparently the boy not only was _adamant_ on calling him “father”, just as Kelly had thought he would, but also seemed to have idealised him, despite the fact that he had no conscious memories of their previous connection. The idea both made him feel anxious and filled him with a warm feeling he had never experienced before. He was unsure of whether or not he would be able to prove himself worth the nephilim’s admiration and affection, but he found that one fact was almost certain: he would get them anyway and Jack wouldn’t have allowed him to reject them under any circumstance. The only thing he was left to do was to force himself to accept it, perhaps find joy in the knowledge, and try as hard as he could not to fail the boy’s expectations.

 

*****

 

Castiel walked inside the Bunker after Dean and Sam, stopping just past the entrance and taking a brief moment to close his eyes and breathe in slowly. Less than a decade before, which was a very short time for an angel, he would have never been able to imagine that he would have come to call “home” another place that wasn’t Heaven, a place on Earth among the other things, nor that he would have been reminded of what the word actually meant.

After the Fall, the Host had hardly been fitted to be described with that term and he had almost forgotten, after centuries spent as nothing but a soldier, how warm and welcoming those letters could sound when spelt together. The Winchesters had reminded him of something that would have otherwise been lost forever to him and had also taught him that, more than a physical place, “home” were the people you shared your life with.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean called, noticing that the angel had stopped his tracks and wasn’t following them down the stairs. For a moment, the older hunter couldn’t help worrying. Had their friend omitted to tell them something about the Empty? Was he hurt? Or perhaps he was upset by something he had learnt during the trip? He wouldn’t have blamed him, especially if he himself was part of the reason why Castiel was mad. He had seen the face the other had made, while Sam told him about Jack, in the car.

The angel opened his eyes, hearing the human’s voice, and addressed him a smile, instantly chasing away all his doubts, even if the concerns in part remained. “I am fine, Dean,” he answered shaking his head slightly. “Just…It’s good to be home.”

The older Winchester was caught off guard by the words and even more by the longing sincerity in his best friend’s tone. He dropped his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. The statement made him feel both happy and guilty, the contrasting feelings not helping the already raging confusion in his head and chest.

“It’s good to have you back,” he settled for saying, before quickly gesturing the angel to follow. He didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart talk. Not in that moment and not there. Besides, chick flick moments still weren’t his thing. “Come on, let’s introduce you to the kid.”

Castiel didn’t comment on the hurry with which Dean dismissed his statement, even if the hunter had clearly meant his answer. The man was so obviously uneasy around him, for reasons he could imagine and perhaps for others he still was unaware off, and pressing the issue wouldn’t have helped the situation. So, he simply nodded and followed, his eyes moving past the railing, down to the Bunker’s hall and then towards the library. Everything was as it had been the last time he had seen the place, aside from the fact that it was cleaner and tidier. Still, his gaze didn’t linger on the surroundings for too long, but quickly locked on the foreign and yet so familiar figure sat in one of the chairs with Sam’s laptop, near the entrance of the library.

The angel’s steps faltered again, even if just for a moment, and he felt a tug in his chest, as the nervousness he had experienced in the Impala came back. However, this time, a greater dose of eagerness and happiness was accompanying it. The nephilim looked good, a bright bundle of pulsing energy that lit up the whole room. He had recognised the golden glow of his soul and Grace immediately. It was the same that had showed him the paradisiac world that could have, one day, become a reality. The sight gave him more confidence. The uncertainty still lingered in the back of his mind, but now he knew that it didn’t matter what Jack would think of him. He would have done everything in his power to keep the promise he had made to Kelly, to keep her son safe and to give him a chance to do all the good he could potentially bring to the world.

“How did it go?” Jack asked as a greeting, turning his head away from the screen just enough to be able to shoot a look at the two incoming humans. His eyes, however, almost immediately moved back towards the display, once he had assessed that his guardians looked unharmed.

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, unsure of how they should break the news of Castiel’s return to the boy. It wasn’t bad news, but they were both aware that it could have been as overwhelming for Jack as it had been for them.

“Well…” The older hunter started to say, before looking at his brother again. Sam had always had a smoother way with words than he had, so maybe it would have been better if he let his sibling handle this talk too.

The younger Winchester almost rolled his eyes at his brother, but he suppressed the instinct in order to focus on the nephilim. He himself wasn’t sure of what to say and he hated that Dean was, once again, dumping that task on him. “Jack, um…”

Jack looked up again, hearing their hesitation, and this time he fully turned his attention on the humans, a spark of worry in his eyes. Had something happened to them during the trip? He hadn’t sense anything wrong, but now their behaviour was pushing him to reconsider his previous assumption on things being fine.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, not without a hint of alarmed concern. His eyes scanned the brothers, carefully but unsure of what he should look for.

At that point, Castiel chose to step forward, instead of waiting for the hunters to come up with a way to introduce them, fighting back the last hint of hesitancy. Sam and Dean were clearly having some difficulties handling the situation and he wanted to put them out of their misery. Besides, technically, he and the boy had already met, even if Jack didn’t remember it, so it was a reunion. No introductions were needed.

The brothers seemed to grasp his intentions because they moved aside immediately, probably feeling very relieved for having been spared more awkwardness, and allowed him to go to stand directly in front of the boy.

The angel offered the two a quick nod, before landing his blue eyes once again on the nephilim. “Hello, Jack,” he greeted, simply. His voice was serious, but the emotions vibrating in it were well audible and there was the shadow of a smile on his lips.

Jack’s eyes wide instantly, so much that the sight would have been comical in different circumstances. The look on his face clearly told that he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Because it couldn’t be. Sam and Dean had been adamant on that point. Castiel was dead and there was no bringing back. And yet the angel, the one his mother had told him about and whom he had thought he would never meet, was there, standing in front on him, vessel, wings, Grace and all.

“Castiel?” He managed to breathed out, still sounding incredulous, but also deeply hopeful.

Castiel sighed with a small nod. The boy’s reaction had surprised him. After all, in the last moments of conscience after Lucifer had stabbed him, he himself had thought that he wouldn’t have seen the world, or anything else for the matter, ever again. “Yeah, it’s me,” he assured in a gentler tone, opening his arms slightly.

The nephilim shook his head. There was a part of him that just wanted to let go of the disbelief and trust what his senses were showing him, but the doubts were too strong to let go of all the questions, and so was his confusion. “No. We burnt your body, and what’s burnt stays dead.” He turned to look at the two hunters. “How…”

Dean shrugged, as to say that he didn’t have an answer, but also looking like he didn’t care to find one. And, honestly, he didn’t. “Well, that’s the question we’ve been askin’,” he still confessed, his green orbs leaving the boy to land on Castiel. For once, he, the man who had never really believed in miracles, even after he had seen them happening, was ready to take one in and ask no questions. He had got what he had been praying for. It was all he needed to know.

Sam ran a hand in his hair, hesitating for a moment. “Jack…” He began, studying the nephilim’s face carefully. The boy looked as shocked as he and his brother had been and he didn’t seem to know more than they and Castiel did, but he was pretty sure that their hypothesis was the only, plausible one. If it hadn’t been Chuck, or Amara, Lucifer’s son was the only option left. “Did you, uh…Did you bring Cas back?”

Jack blinked at the question, the frown on his face deepening. His eyes moved once again between the humans and the angel, even if he didn’t know what he was looking for in their expression. Perhaps for the answer to the question they just had asked him. Or maybe just for a reflection of his own being that could allow him to reply to it. His mind went back to his last fight with Dean. He had felt a rush of power running through him when he had called Castiel’s name out, while the two hunters fought each other in the next room, but he would have never guessed that this could have been the result. And yet the three, even the older Winchester, seemed to be sure, despite the lack of hard facts, that he had to be the responsible for this unexpected gift.

“I don’t know. I wanted him back,” he tried to explain, feeling a small surge of panic in his chest. This time he had done something good with his powers, but he still didn’t like how little control he had on them. Sam had tried to talk him into taking it easy and giving himself time, but whenever he thought about everything he might have ended up doing, especially the bad things, he couldn’t help feeling uncertain and scared by himself. “I…begged for him to come back, but…but…”

“Well, here he is,” Dean stepped in, saving the boy from completing a sentence he wouldn’t have known how to finish.

Jack’s gaze snapped on the older Winchester, his confusion growing slightly. He had expected the man to be skeptical, as he had been all the other times it had been implied that he could do something good. Hearing him stating, even if not directly, that he was ready to believe that this miracle was his doing was more than unexpected.

The nephilim knotted his brows together. Now that he was looking at the human a little better, he couldn’t help noticing that there was something different in his stance too. His shoulders were less slumped, his face less dark, his eyes less empty, even if the shadows were still there. Had Castiel’s return caused such a sudden transformation?

“Because of me?” He asked, still not believing what was clearly implied in the older hunter’s words. He was glad to see that Dean appeared to have changed his mind, at least in part, about him, but it also seemed too good to be true.

“We don’t know,” Sam answered, sincerely. His voice was filled with the same hesitancy that Jack himself felt, but there was a brighter, more hopeful note in it too. The man wanted to believe that it was true, because it would have confirmed that he had been right since the start, that he had put his faith in the right place. “We don’t know, Jack. But we…we think maybe.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Castiel cut in with determination, deciding that the discussion had gone on for long enough. He could see how lost the boy was and insisting on discussing the matter wouldn’t have brought them any sure answer. The facts pointed in the direction that his resurrection was Jack’s doing and he was ready to accept it a reality. He had felt the nephilim’s Grace, it had coursed through him when he had killed Dagon, when he had been shown the world that could have been. He knew that Jack had that kind of power.

The boy turned to look at him once again, a bit taken aback by the strength of his words, but the he felt himself relaxing as his confusion and uncertainty melted away. Castiel had no doubt on the fact that he had been able to drag him back to life and Jack decided that, if the angel believed it, he would to. After all, his mother had told him to trust the creature, because he would be the one to guide and watch over him.

In a moment he was out of the chair and he had his arms wrapped around Castiel’s body, the solidity of the vessel being the last proof he needed to know that he wasn’t hallucinating. “I missed you so much,” he confessed, his voice quieter, but just as intense as the angel’s had been when he had greeted him. He was speaking the truth. He might not remember meeting the other and connecting with him, but, now that he was there, Jack felt as if a void had finally been filled in his confusing, still mostly obscure existence.

Castiel was completely caught off guard when the nephilim threw himself in his arms and it took him a moment to recover from the surprise. However, the boy was now radiating happiness, instead of uncertainty, and he couldn’t help relaxing in turn and hugging him back. He felt a bit awkward doing it, also because he could feel the hunters’ eyes on them, but he decided that he could have got used to be squeezed by that ball of energy.

“Sam and Dean tell me you’re doing well,” he said, once Jack had released him and moved away so that they could look at each other.

Jack nodded without hesitation. “I am,” he confirmed and he realised that he meant it, more truly than he ever had before that moment. Perhaps it wasn’t so absurd to think that Dean’s attitude had changed so much because of Castiel’s return. He himself was suddenly feeling more confident and positive “I…” He started to say, but he cut himself off almost immediately. Perhaps showing would work better. “Watch this.”

The boy walked back to the table and reached out for the pencil that was rested on the smooth, wooden surface, next to the laptop. He stretched out a hand and the object started to raise, levitating for a few seconds before falling back down. Jack’s face lit up ever more, with pride and a bit of innocent smugness, as he turned to look at his three companions.

”Wow,” Sam let out, summing up everyone’s thoughts, and even Dean raised his eyebrows, appearing impressed. When they had left, the nephilim had been unable to even just make the thing roll, let alone fly.

Jack’s eyes brightened ever more, happy with the reaction he had got. “I learnt to move the pencil. I practiced.” He turned to look at the younger Winchester. “Just like you told me to, Sam.”

“That’s impressive, Jack. You did well,” Castiel agreed, with a small smile, raising a hand to land it on the boy’s shoulder. He was a bit unsure about what he was about to ask, but he did his best to hide it. He looked at the hunters, who were still staring at the pencil. “Sam, Dean, would you mind if I spoke with Jack alone for a while?”

The brothers exchanged a quick look. The request hadn’t surprised them. It made sense that their newly revived friend wanted to spend some time with Jack and get to know him. After all, he had been supposed to be there since the boy’s first moment in the world. They had lots to catch up.

“Yeah, of course. You guys go on,” Sam nodded, a small smile touching his lips. He was certain that some time alone would do good to both the nephilim and the angel. He moved to take Jack’s spot in front of the laptop. “Dean and I will keep ourselves busy. We’re more than capable. If something comes up, we’ll let you know.”

Dean simply shrugged, as to say that he didn’t mind, and once again avoided to speak. If he had to be honest, there was a part of him that wasn’t at ease with letting Castiel out of his sight so soon, since he was still trying to persuade himself that his best friend had truly returned and was there to stay, but he shoved the feeling away. As he did with the fear of what Jack could tell the angel about him. The kid had all the rights to complain about how he had treated him, just as Castiel did to hear everything about it.

The angel offered them a quick grin. “Then I guess that we’ll...catch you later,” he offered as some sort of goodbye, before starting to guide Jack towards the door that led to the residential part of the Bunker.

The nephilim followed more than willingly and they ended up in the boy’s room, since Castiel wasn’t sure in what state his own was. Or even if he still had a room in the building. It would have made sense if the two hunters had chosen to clear it, after having burnt his vessel. He hadn’t been expected to come back.

The thought brought back a wave of bitterness and guilt, but he managed to ignore it and, instead, he chose to stop on the threshold, once they had reached their destination, to have a look around. There was nothing extremely unusual in Jack’s room and, if he hadn’t known that its owner was Lucifer’s son, he wouldn’t have been able to guess it, or to even think that it could belong to someone who wasn’t a normal human teenager. Perhaps, the place was a bit tidier than expected, considering the boy’s apparent age, but the angel was ready to bet that they had to thank Sam for the mostly absent mess. There were a few clothes scattered around, together with a few books, and the bed was unmade. He spotted a few half scribbled papers on the desk, with letters and symbols of different, ancient languages, and that was the only sign, one that only a trained eye could have spotted, that there was something supernatural going on there.

Jack watched Castiel expectantly from where he had taken a seat on his bed. The angel seemed to be engrossed in studying his room, so he tried his best to stay quiet and to resist the urge to call out for him, even if it was hard. He felt himself vibrating with nervous energy and eagerness. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wished to know and just as many he wanted to tell. He didn’t know where to start from. He didn’t even know if he should ask the other to sit next to him or if he should offer him the chair.

Eventually the angel’s eyes returned on the boy and he made himself cross the threshold. There was just the smallest hint of hesitation as he took a seat next to the nephilim and an attentive observer would have noticed that his shoulders were slightly tenser than they should have been. He rested his elbows on his knees and joined his hands, staring ahead of himself for the fraction of a second before moving his gaze back on the expectant nephilim. Once again he couldn't help marvelling at how bright with power and kindness Jack was. He was nothing like Lucifer. Or, at least, nothing like what the Morningstar had become. God’s second oldest used to have that title for a reason, after all. However, that had happened in another life.

“So, Jack. How is the human world treating you?” Castiel inquired. It was a very general question, but he deemed that it was good to break the ice. It would allow them to set a mood for that conversation, before moving to what he really wanted to talk about. And to the questions Jack had for him. He could almost read them in his eyes.

The boy hesitated a moment before answering, his expression turning contemplative. “Well…I think,” he ended up saying, even if he didn’t sound completely persuaded. “I mean, there are a lot of things I really like.” He grinned a bit. “Like sweets. Nougats. And I’ve met…good people. Sam, for example. He’s been very understanding and kind. And he has helped me out every time I felt too lost. However, there are also a lot of bad things.” His expression fell a bit, and a crease appeared across his forehead. “At times it’s hard for me to spot the bad things. They are…tricky. And my powers…They are tricky too. Most of the time I cannot control them, and bad things happened.” He hanged his head a little. He felt shame and guilt for the harm he had caused, even if he hadn’t meant for it to happen. “So, for the most, it’s all very confusing.”

Castiel bit back a sigh at Jack’s words. He could relate far too well. He didn't even want to think about how many times he had brought sufferance and destruction while trying to do the right thing. His latest attempt was the indirect cause of the nephilim’s existence. Perhaps that didn’t excuse him for his foolishness when he had accepted Lucifer’s offer and allowed him to get out of the Cage, but, now that he had met the boy again, he was starting to feel more entitled to believe that, at least for this time, his reckless choice of actions had brought upon them a little blessing too. He also noticed how Jack had mentioned just Sam. That made him frown, but he discarded the thought for the moment. He would go back to that subject later.

“This world, as many others, is filled with both light and darkness, Jack. But mostly, everything is…gray,” he tried to explain, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. “There are no certainties or strict rules that can teach you what’s right and what’s wrong. However, the fact that you feel guilt and remorse is a good sign. It means that you recognise and understand your mistakes, that you are ready to learn from them. And this is how humans deal with their free will. It’s a game of trials and errors. And will to become an always better version of yourself.”

He rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeezed a little. “Before leaving Heaven, before the Apocalypse happened, before I met Sam and Dean, I used to think that everything was already written. That there were lines and roles that couldn’t be crossed and discarded,” he resumed, shaking his head slightly. “Humans taught me that I was wrong, that nothing is set in stone. That redemption is possible and that everyone can write their own destiny.” He moved his deep blue eyes back on the nephilim and smiled a bit. “Everything became harder, after that. And more confusing. It still is, most of the time. So I understand how you feel. However, I also believe that, at the end of the day, free will is worth all the pain and the hardships you must face to defend it.”

Jack watched Castiel with rapt interest as the angel spoke, taking in every word he was being offered. Sam had been very willing and patient with him while trying to tell him about the world and its many faces, but at times it wasn’t enough, no matter how much effort the man put in it. There were some aspects, basic ones, that the hunter considered obvious because he was human. Jack, however, was not, and so far too many times those explanations had brought him more doubts than answers. Castiel, instead, was like him. He was an alien dweller on Earth, even now that the human world was more of a home to him than Heaven had been in a very long time.

“Yeah…I agree,” he nodded after a moment of silence, nodding with determination. “I don’t want to be defined by…who created me. I want to be the one to decide whom I will become. I want to be able to choose to be good and do all the good things that Mom thought I am capable of.”

His expression faltered a bit, when he mentioned Kelly and his gaze became uncertain. It pained him that he had never met the woman who had consciously given her life to allow him to exist. He felt a strong connection with her, but at the same time he knew almost nothing about her, aside from what he had learnt from the videos she had left him. However, those were more about him than about her. He wanted to be able to remember her properly, _fully_ , as both his mother and a person.

“You can ask me anything, Jack,” Castiel interjected, as if he had read the nephilim’s thoughts. In a way he had, since the boy’s thoughts were more or less written all over his face.

Jack was caught off guard by the sudden offer and he felt his face warming up slightly with embarrassment. That was a reaction he still hadn’t got used to, since he hardly experienced it. He dropped his eyes for a moment, but then he lifted them again and nodded. The expression on the angel’s face was still open and welcoming and that gave him courage.

“I wanted to ask you about my mother,” he admitted, in a quiet tone. “She left me some videos, where she told me a bit about her and about you and my future, but…It wasn’t much. I know that you haven’t known her for long either, but you stayed with her for a few weeks and…I think you’re the only one who really got to know her.”

Castiel nodded back, not surprised at all by the request. He had been expecting it. Sam had told him that, while Jack hadn’t showed any interest in Lucifer, he had been asking about Kelly. That alone said a lot about the boy’s natural inclinations.

“Your mother was an amazing woman,” he started to answer. His mind went back to the weeks he had spent watching over her and her unborn baby, witnessing her strength and her light. She hadn’t been much different from most humans he had met, when they had first run into each other, while he and the Winchesters were hunting Lucifer down. However, all she had been through, and perhaps the pregnancy itself, had changed her, bettered her. Instead of breaking her, it had brought out her inner strength and her love. She had died without hesitation in the name of the faith she had in the being who was slowing growing inside her.

“She was intelligent, strong and kind. I can see her in you, Jack,” he went on, a hint of fondness colouring his voice. “At first, her decision to keep you had seemed reckless and dangerous to me. I thought that she was doing it out of fear or blindness. But in the end I understood that she was conscious of her destiny and had chosen it because she was brave and because she had faith. In you. She believed that you would have saved the world as you had saved her. And I believe that she was right.”

He made a pause, watching as the nephilim looked away again, this time in the attempt to hide a shy but pleased smile. Jack seemed to feed on praises, but in a way that was devoid of malice. It was a naive and innocent pleasure the one that lit up his hazelnut eyes, a boost of confidence and strength in a soul so filled of doubts.

That look on the boy’s face pushed him to go on and he found himself reminiscing out aloud the lighter moments he had shared with Kelly during the weeks they had spent together and also the more pregnant ones. He told him how the woman had been adamant on decorating what should have been Jack’s room, since they had been expecting a baby and not a teenager. How she was always so moved after each video she registered. How much love she had had for him and how unwavering her belief in the boy’s goodness had been.

The angel also narrated the few stories of her life she had told him about, a life that hadn’t been easy since the start, but that, in her eyes, had in the end granted her the most wonderful gift she could have ever wished for. A child. And not any child. A very special one, the kid she would have loved to grow and teach. However, even if she had been denied that possibility, she had been happy anyway, because she had had a part in giving Jack a chance to exist and show to everyone the beauty of the light she had witnessed so many times.

“She does sound amazing,” Jack commented when the angel was done talking. The words didn’t do justice to all the emotions he was experiencing in that moment. Happiness, longing, sadness, melancholy, admiration. He had always thought that his mother had been a strong woman, but now that he had heard so much about her he felt as if he could see more in the image of her face. His determination was renewed by those tales. He wanted to make her proud, to be the person she had thought he would become. He might still have difficulties understanding what was right and what was wrong, what he should have done and how, but he was sure of one thing: that prospect _felt_ right and he would put his faith in it, as Kelly had put faith in him.

“Is she in Heaven now?” He asked then, looking up from here he had fixed his eyes on the floor, while taking in all the information he was being offered.

Castiel instantly nodded. “Of course she is,” he reassured the boy. He hadn’t seen her, but he had no doubt that her soul had flied to the Host. He then hesitated for a moment, pondering whether or not he should speak the next words. It was an unlikely scenario, but maybe, one day, there would be a way. “Perhaps, when the time will be right, you will be able to visit her.”

The nephilim perked up at that last statement. He hadn’t missed the uncertainty in the angel’s voice and he knew why it was there. And it brought him right to his next question. “There is…There is something else I’d like to ask you,” he started, his voice faltering just briefly. The encouraging nod he received in answer helped him steadying his decision. “I was wondering…How is Heaven? I’ve read the things the humans write about it. They say…It’s supposed to be the best place ever created. And what about the other angels? They should be my family, but they hate me. I can understand why they don’t want to trust me, because of what Lucifer did and is, but isn’t there a way I can change their mind? Show them that I mean no harm? That I’m not like him?”

This time the question caught Castiel off guard. Perhaps he should have anticipated that line of inquiries too. It was just natural for Jack to wonder about his angelic roots, even despite the disinterest he had shown in his biological father. Besides, it was even more understandable that the boy, with in his clear dislike for conflict, would have wanted to know if there was a way for him to stop being the target of Heaven’s hostility and fear.

“Heaven is…complicated,” the angel chose to start, after having taken a few moments to ponder the question. There were no easy answers to it. Describing the Host to someone who had never seen anything but the human world was hard. Also because in the last decade there had been a lot of changes. “Before the creation of Earth, it was a boundless Garden. It was indeed the most beautiful place in the universe, full of light and joy and harmony. There was no place for shadows and conflicts back then. God’s presence could be felt in every corner, even the most distant from where He resided and we all knew that He was there to watch over us and His creations, even if only five of us were allowed to see His face. The four archangels and the Scribe of God, Metatron.”

“After Earth and humanity became a stable project in God’s mind, Heaven was remodelled too.” Those modification had been necessary to welcome the souls that, with the passing of time, would be taken from Earth to the Host. It had been with the start of the remodelling that Lucifer had begun to voice his opposition, which had culminated in his refusal to bow to their Father’s newest, favourite creations. Castiel chose not to allude to those facts, not wanting to stray from the point. Not to mention that those events were bad memories he preferred not to recall, if it wasn’t strictly necessary.

“Every human was assigned their own personal Heaven,” he elaborated, trying to keep his explanation as simple as possible without making it too vague. “All of those different, smaller realms were at the same time combined into a bigger, endless one and kept separated from one another. Angels are the only beings able to travel to any of the personal Heavens, and they can even alter them at will. In each individualized Heaven, though, there is a way that leads to the original Garden, which has remained at the centre of the Host.”

At this point he paused for a moment, studying Jack’s face to see if he was following or if he needed to ask questions. The nephilim was once again wearing that raptured expression he had showed while the angel had been talking about Kelly, but there was a more serious light in his eyes and a small frown on his face now. Deciding that he had been clear enough, Castiel chose to go on.

“I don’t know how much Sam and Dean have told you about our past history. Our life together has been studded with difficult, complex situations.” That was a huge understatement, but details wouldn’t help him making his point. Perhaps, in another occasion, he would have simply transmitted his own memories, of both the Host and his time on Earth, to the boy, clearing out all the doubts he might have. However, that would have to wait for a better time. Right now, he was still too shaken from his experience in the Empty and he didn’t want to accidentally show Jack any of that. Moreover, he wasn’t sure of how the nephilim would react to such a sudden, huge load of information. Despite his immense power, he was still half human, at the end of the day.

“A few years ago, after the end of the Apocalypse, a civil war broke out in Heaven,” he went on and his face darkened. Those had been the events that had led him to his first, horribly wrong decision, which had endangered the whole world once again. “I was the leader, even if it hadn’t been a free choice from my part, of one of the factions. The other was led by the archangel Raphael.” So many angels had lost their lives then. Both during the war itself and once he had been turned into that dark, bloodthirsty deity. “The war ended with both Raphael’s and…my death. The Host was left without a leadership once again, divided in different factions. It was when Heaven was remodelled for the third time. Instead of an endless realm of individualized Heavens, the angels gave the Host the shapes of a massive building, made of vast hallways. On each of them open the doors for each human’s Heaven.”

Castiel shook his head slightly, fighting back the umpteenth sigh and looking down at his hands. “It has become even more…sterile than how it had been during Michael’s rule,” he concluded, a hint of guilty longing in his voice. In part, those changes were his fault. “So, Jack, I’m not sure that Heaven is still the most beautiful place ever created. It was once, at the beginning, but now…Everything is different.”

The angel then forced himself to lift his eyes again and to meet Jack’s. The past was past and, even if it technically wasn’t set in stone, it was always a bad idea to try and change it. The wisest choice was to focus on the present and the future. So, on the boy and no longer on the Host.

“On one thing I have no doubts, however,” he claimed, with renewed determination. “You shouldn’t let the other angels’ opinion bother you now. They are scared because you have more power than they can imagine and every too powerful being, from Amara to God to the archangels, has only brought ruin to Heaven. That is why they cannot see you as anything different from a threat. Perhaps, one day, you’ll be able to change their mind, but this isn’t what you should be focusing on right now. You must learn to master your powers, so that you can decide of your own destiny. Till the moment you’ll succeed, I will do my best to protect you, guide you and teach you, as I promised to your mother. And also because I share her hopes and faith for you. And of course, you have Sam and Dean too. No matter what Heaven, or the world, might think. You are not alone, Jack. You have a family that believes in you and that is ready to support you.”

Jack nodded slowly, this time remaining quiet. It was a lot to take in, also because it was hard for him to picture in his head the images that Castiel had tried to describe to him. He wished he could have been able to see them with his eyes, but he understood that it wasn’t the right time to dwell on those desires. Apparently, for now, there was nothing he could do to show the angels that he wasn’t what they thought he was or, at least, what he would become. Castiel was right, he had to work on himself first, understand how to realise the future he wanted for himself and for those he had come to care about. Find a way to fulfil his potential. The rest would come later.

“I…It means a lot, to have your trust and support. And, as I said, if Sam hadn’t been so kind and understanding while you were…gone, I don’t know what could have happened. What I could have done,” he finally said, quietly. He licked his lips slightly. He had almost made a mess, when Asmodeus had come to him and had tricked him taking Donatello’s forms. If the Winchesters hadn’t rushed to his rescue, now there would have been an army of hellish soldiers roaming around the Earth, bringing nothing but blood and destruction. “Sam and Dean, they took me in, didn’t try to kill me on the spot, gave me a home…I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay them for this. Even if…”

He let his voice trail off at that point, unsure if he should continue or not. Dean was Castiel’s best friend and he didn’t want to talk ill of him for that reason, no matter how harsh and unfair the older hunter had been with him. He would have hated making the angel mad because he had pushed his words too far. Besides, he understood, at least in part, why the older Winchester had been so bitter with him since the start. Sam had stated that Dean had no rights to make those accusations, but Jack didn’t completely agree. He had, indirectly, been responsible for Mary’s disappearance, and for Castiel’s death too. If he hadn’t opened that door to the other dimension, the woman would still be there, with her sons, and perhaps the angel wouldn’t have died in the fight with Lucifer. Perhaps they would have found another way to get rid of the Devil and some pain might have been spared to the two brothers.

Castiel waited for the boy to keep going, but after almost a half minute of silence it became clear that the nephilim didn’t intend to finish his sentence. Not that Jack needed to. The angel could take a very good guess about what the boy had been about to say. Once again, he had just named Sam when he had mentioned who had been helping him all that time, while he had included Dean only in the more general observations. Considering what the Winchesters had told him about the older hunter and Jack’s very conflictual relationship, he was almost sure that the nephilim had been on the verge of telling him about how the human had been acting around him.

“Jack, I think I know what you want to say, and that is exactly what I wished to talk about with you,” he began, seeking Jack’s eyes. He wanted the boy to know that it was okay and that he was already aware of the situation. That he understood and wouldn’t have judged him even if he had openly insulted the older Winchester. From what Sam had told him, and since he knew his best friend very well, he could imagine how hard it had been. “Dean can be...harsh, unforgiving even, especially when he is in a bad place. He gets angry, bitter and he can’t hold it to himself, he has to throw it out and he does, as soon as he is offered a pretext to. And what happened with his mother, and to me...It hit him hard, to use another euphemism. I’m sure you have noticed.”

He paused for a moment and rubbed his fingers together, distractedly. “With this I’m not trying to excuse him. He had no rights to blame you for what happened, because _none_ of this was your fault, Jack. _Never_ think that.” He shot the nephilim a meaningful, firm look. He had the feeling that the boy had the Winchesters’, and his own, same tendency to blame himself far too easily and he didn’t wish to encourage it. “I just want you to know that he is a good man, much better than you can imagine. He will make it up to you, now that he has understood his mistake. And I know he has. He realised it in the same moment when we discovered that my return is most likely your doing.” He let out a sound that was half way between a deep sigh and an exasperated chuckle. “Dean isn’t the best with apologies, so he won’t come to you and say “sorry”. Not with words, at least. But you’ll see. He will treat you better. And if he doesn’t, Sam and I will deal with him.”

The last sentence was spoken a bit jokingly and Jack seemed to catch on that, because his lips curled up a bit. He understood what the angel was trying to say, about Dean having found a bit of hope again, and he nodded, wanting to show that he believed him. The truth was that he had already noticed a change in the older hunter’s attitude, even if he had seen still many shadows in his eyes.

“I…see. He and Sam have gone through a lot, this I understand,” he answered, looking thoughtful. He then grinned back. “But I think you’re right. Dean was so…bitter because you were gone, much more than Sam, so now that you’re back he will be better. We all are going to be better. I’ll learn to control my powers and find a way to reopen that door on the Apocalyptic world, so we can all go and get Mary. And at that point everything will be good again.”

He didn’t want to sound too naive or optimistic, because he was aware that things would never be that easy, even if getting Mary back was all that would take to make their little group happy. There were wounds and scars left by the past that would never fully heal and that would never be erased, not even with all the power that the nephilim of an archangel could gain. However, that was what faith was for. To believe that even the impossible could happen, that even the darkest night could be lit up.

Once again, Castiel found himself slightly taken aback by the brightness of the boy’s eyes. It was unsettling, but not in a negative way. He pondered Jack’s words carefully, even if a part of him, the disillusioned side that had lost most of his hope and faith, almost wanted to reject them. Nothing had ever gone completely smoothly for him and the Winchesters. Whenever they managed to fix a problem, others came up, either by chance or as a consequence of their choices, and it was usually worse than the previous issue. However, the nephilim’s shiny determination was infectious and, before he could even realise it, he found himself nodding in agreement.

“Yes, Jack. I believe that this is a very good plan,” he commented, landing his hand once again back on the boy’s shoulder.

Silence fell once again between them at that point, but this time it was devoid of tension or awkward expectations. They had turned to look in front of them, both pondering the words that had been exchanged, Castiel’s hand still nestled protectively on Jack’s collarbone. That was how Sam found them, a couple of minutes later, when he came knocking on the open door.

“Hey,” the younger Winchester greeted, looking between the other two, as if he was trying to determine whether or not he had interrupted something. Since he received no complaints, he decided that he could safely go on. “Uh, we found something. A case, most likely, and Dean thought that we could…go all together on this one. It seems pretty nasty, so we might use some help. Unless you guys have other plans.”

The angel was a bit surprised to hear that Dean had been the one to ask for his and Jack’s presence, but he decided to interpret it as the first attempt at apologising from the older hunter’s part. Next to him, the boy had instantly perked up at the idea of a hunt and so he had no doubt that the nephilim would have wanted to go. He had the feeling that the boy would have never turned down even the smallest chance he got to prove his worth and make himself useful.

“We’re done here,” he stated, getting up from the bed. “We would be glad to help. Show us what you’ve got, Sam.”

 

*****

 

Jack had been the first to follow Sam out, already excited about going on a hunt and having another chance to prove his abilities and good intentions, especially to his regained father. His behaviour had surprised Castiel a little. He hadn’t had the time to get used to Jack’s fervor yet and so the enthusiasm kept catching him slightly off guard, but he liked seeing him like this. For a child doomed to be evil by pretty much everyone around him, the nephilim was handling it pretty fine.

The angel had thoughtfully followed the other two towards the living room. The boy had pretty much confessed to him that all those expectations, both the good and the bad ones, burdened him. It couldn’t have been any differently. Castiel had a very clear idea of how it felt, having the weight of a whole world on your shoulders, and no one would have been able to ignore it, unless you dropped everything and fled from those responsibilities. Just as God had done, millennia before. However, the recent events had shown that not even his Father had been able to escape from them indefinitely. They had caught up with him, in the form of Amara in this particular case, and even the Almighty had been forced to face the consequences of his choices. That considered, none of them, not even the one who was Lucifer’s son and potentially the most powerful being in the universe after God and the Darkness, could have found an easy way out, one that could have spared him from paying the toll that life imposed to everyone.

He had been so lost in those thoughts that he had hardly noticed that they had reached their destination and snapped back to the present only when Dean spoke up, hearing their approaching steps.

“Marysville, Kansas,” the older hunter offered as a greeting. “Several people found dead during last two weeks. Sounds boring? Well, you haven’t heard the best, creepiest thing yet. All the victims had some of their organs replaced with fake ones. One dead guy - one fake gut. Pretty neat, ain’t it?”

The older Winchester glanced up just briefly from the laptop when all the others gathered around him. He was aware that Castiel and Jack had to have talked about him and he was pretty anxious to see their reactions, even if he did his best to hide it. He relaxed slightly seeing that the angel, once again, wasn’t looking at him with anger or disappointment in his eyes. And Jack? The kid still seemed a bit hesitant around Dean, but he looked like he got back all that child’s joy and naive brightness he had shown at first. Deep inside Dean felt very grateful and relieved that Castiel had already managed to influence the boy so much. If his own bad behaviours towards the nephilim wouldn’t have had any long-term consequences, it would most likely be all thanks to his best friend’s intervention. The angel was really the miracle they had all been waiting for to get some balance back in their lives.

“Could be just some psycho serial killer with trophy kink, could be something our kind. It’s hard to tell,” he went on, discarding those thoughts and shrugging. “What do you say? You up for a field trip? I say we go and check it out, it’s close enough and worth a look.”

The other three looked at each other and then nodded, no one voicing an objection. Jack grinned, barely containing his eagerness, while Sam just shrugged, even if there was an amused light in his hazel eyes. As for Castiel, the angel just kept an eye on Dean, studying his reactions. His best friend wasn’t acting much different from the norm he was used to see, but he could still sense the tension. The knowledge forced him to bit back a sigh. There would be a lot of work to do on that side.

Less than half an hour later, they had packed all the essential and the weapons they might need and hit the road. A field trip could really be what they needed to consolidate the group dynamics that had once again shifted with Castiel’s return, not just because of the angel’s physical presence, but also because of the changes that his resurrection had brought in everyone else’s behaviour and mindset. There were still a few blurry lines and confused emotions that needed to be clarified, especially on Dean’s part, and that hunt could have been the perfect chance to test the waters. None of them, though, would have imagined where that trip, which had started no differently from their usual ones, would have eventually led them.


	2. Chapter 2

It took the four less than two hours to get the city and, once reached their destination, they decided to split up. They would have covered more ground more quickly that way and, besides, it would have been more credible for FBI agents to investigate in pairs and not in a small group. Since Jack still wanted to learn as much as possible about hunting and to improve his “fake police” act, they agreed that that the nephilim had better stick with one of the Winchesters. While Castiel already had some solid hunting knowledge and had even managed a few cases on his own, he hardly had the amount of experience that the two brothers had and he still had to learn a few things about human interactions, despite all the years he had spent on Earth. They would have caught less attention if each celestial being had been paired up with one of the hunters.

Surprisingly enough, Jack was the one to make the choice for everyone. While, on one side, he would have rather go with Sam because he and the younger Winchester got along much better than he and the elder did, that wasn’t the main reason behind his choice. He could tell that Dean felt much better now that Castiel was back, but he also understood that the men still had some unsolved issues, and not just because the angel had more or less implied it during their talk. There was a lingering, weird tension between them, despite the friendly way in which they acted around each other, and it was so evident that anyone who knew the two a little bit would have spotted it. So, in the boy’s mind, they would have probably benefited from some alone time .

Sam of course instantly agreed with the nephilim’s proposal. He had been aware of the many things unsaid and lingering in the air since the trip back to the Bunker and he honestly couldn’t wait for his brother to figure them out. An edgy Dean was never good news and so the sooner the other hunter would have dealt with whatever was still bothering him, the better would have been for everyone.

On his part, the older Winchester, while reluctant, didn’t really oppose the idea, mostly because he couldn’t come up with a good objection that wouldn’t have made him sound like an asshole or like he was avoiding Castiel on purpose. He had no choice but accepting to be paired up with the angel, since the latter, as expected, offered no resistance to the idea either. On the contrary, the older hunter had the feeling that Castiel had been hoping for such a result and the fact made him slightly uneasy, as irrational as it might sound.

After another brief discussion, they agreed that, while Sam and Jack would have checked on the latest crime scene, Dean and Castiel would have gone and talked to the local police and to the coroner, making sure to have a look at the corpses. If that case had something to do with the supernatural, either the bodies of the victims or the places where they had been killed would have brought  something unusual to their attention.

Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out to be as easy as Dean had hoped. The corpses didn’t reveal anything too out of the norm, unless one counted the replaced organs, which were different for every time. Once it was the liver, another the heart, then the pancreas, the intestines and so on. In one case, it was the brain, which showed that whoever had committed the murders had to have a certain knowledge and experience when it came to human bodies and anatomy. That fact was also testified by the fact that the parts had been removed with a certain precision, even if it was also clear that it couldn’t be the work of a surgeon. For the rest, though, the autoptic reports didn’t offer much intel. There was no sign that the organs had been eaten and, besides, for all they knew there was no creature that ate all the body parts _separately_ . It could have still been the work of some very _human_ psycho, so not exactly their field.

After far too long talks with the sheriff and his agents and some researching through the case files, Dean texted Sam what they had found, or rather what they _hadn’t_ , and the four opted to go and check all the other crime scenes, looking for any possible connection among the deaths or anything out of the norm.

During the hours they spent working side by side, Castiel couldn’t help it and kept watching Dean carefully, still feeling worried about his friend and knowing that there were too many things they needed to talk about. Whenever they had been alone, in the car or inside the empty houses they were checking, the angel had tried to start a conversation about Jack or the hunter himself or his best friend’s feelings, but each time the older Winchester had either cut him off or abruptly changed the subject, without really answering him, and had refused to talk about anything else that wasn’t the case.

After the umpteenth failed attempt, the angel, while not feeling like giving up without a fight but understanding that his insistence would have taken him nowhere for the moment, had decided that, perhaps, it would be better to give Dean some time to adjust to the new situation and gather his thoughts. The man was probably still confused and unsettled by the many contrasting emotions he had experienced in such a short amount of time. Castiel realised that, while on one side his returned seemed to have given Dean some vitality back, on the other it had still been just another earthquake that had shaken the human’s world, even if, for once, it hadn’t been an unwelcome one. Still, even good news, when so sudden and unexpected, could require a period of adjustment. Just like human eyes needed some time to get used to the light once again, after having been staring in the dark for a very long time.

 

*****

 

After a few hours of working on the crime scenes, the group met up again to compare all the informations they had managed to gather. Castiel instantly deduced that Sam and Jack had to have had more luck than he and Dean, because they both were looking quite excited and they were wearing matching triumphant expressions that screamed, loudly and clearly, “news”.

“Guess what we found,” the younger Winchester greeted them once they were all standing in front of the car, grinning at his brother and angelic friend. He held up a small bag made of a piece of cloth, kept close by a leather string, for them to see. If the familiar appearance had left any doubts on what it might be, the rune painted on it would have deleted them. “Hex bag! Apparently it’s our kind of case and… We got a witch.”

Dean let out a disgruntled sound at the news. He had seen a lot during the years spent hunting. Monsters of all kinds, the most disgusting things, and the scariest ones too. He had witnessed a couple of ends of the world, fought demons and  angels. He had been to Hell and Purgatory. He had faced God’s freaking sister and met the Almighty himself. However, even after all that, he was still of the opinion that nothing was worse than _witches_. Their acquaintance with Rowena had done nothing to change his mind on the matter, either. On the contrary, it had just made him even more hellbent in his beliefs.

“Damn. I should have guessed it, with that unhealthy obsession with organ replacements,” he grumbled under his breath, a disgusted expression contorting his face. “Let’s hope that whoever is doing this mess isn’t making doll-people like that witch in Rock Rivers.” He shook his head. That had been a nasty affair and it had had a very high price for the people involved.  “I _hate_ witches.”

Jack exploited the small pause that followed the comment to step in, with a grin that was wider than the younger hunter’s. “At least we found a proof that can tell us what we’re dealing with. Must have been one messy witch, right? Or maybe someone inexperienced… Or perhaps they have just been sloppy or too emotional and forgot about it!” He rattled on, happy to have progress with the case. “Well, lucky us.”

“Lucky us indeed,” the older hunter mumbled in response, not ever remotely sharing the boy’s enthusiasm, voice filled with sarcasm. The unhappiness in his comeback, though, wasn’t directed at the nephilim this time. He was just annoyed with what that case had turned out to be about. And yet, despite not seeing what there could be so _exciting_ in the news that they would be hunting down a damned witch, he still couldn't help a small smile at the boy’s efforts to be helpful.. “But...Good job, kid.”

Castiel and Sam exchanged a small, exasperated shake of head at his tone and an almost surprised look at the smile. Dean pretended to ignore both gestures for everyone’s sake, his own in particular, and, instead, he fished out the key of the Impala. “Come on,” he went on. “Let’s go grab something to eat. I’m _starving_. Then we’ll see what else we’ve managed to put together.”

No one protested and they all got in the care. Dean didn’t dare to even suggest that they should send Jack to grab the food, as he had been doing lately, especially not in front of Cas and not after all the realisations and the change of heart he had had. So, instead, the Winchesters chose a small diner not too far away from the police station and the four gathered around the table at the bottom of the main room, letting the waitress take their orders before addressing the case again. The place was quiet and almost deserted, also because it was a bit too late for eating and most of the usual patrons had already consumed their lunch and gone home. The perfect setting to talk about spells and witches and corpses without anyone eavesdropping.

The quick meal was spent discussing what their next move should be. Since none of them had a clue of what kind of spell the witch could be doing, they agreed that the best thing to do would be researching the victims thoroughly and trying to find any link between them. Usually the targets of a witch had a connection, be it a place, a living or dead person, a specific event. Discovering it was what allowed hunters to trace the spells back to whoever had been casting them and they hoped to be able to do the same that time too.

So, once they were done eating, they parted ways again, each pair taking a few victim files to investigate and that was how the rest of the day was spent. By the time the sky had started to darken, they had learned that all of the murdered people somehow knew each other. There wasn’t a common, fixed denominator, since some of them had met during seasonal work, others at local parties, and a few while doing business together. However, they seemed to be all connected, one way or another. More in depth researches had also brought up the fact that, from all of that circle of friends and acquaintances, there was one person not dead yet, but who had been reported as missing some weeks before the beginning of the murders. Considering the circumstance, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

 

*****

 

As first thing in the morning, after getting some quick breakfast, Sam and Jack went to visit the missing guy’s only living relative, who happened to be his sister. The police report of the disappearance hadn’t told them anything that couldn’t have been deduced by the facts and by using a bit of common sense, so, if there was someone who could have offered some real intel about what might have happened to the man it was her. None of them was very hopeful since, according to the transcript of the woman’s interrogation at the time of the events, she had claimed to know nothing, but it was worth looking into it.

Cas and Dean, instead, remained at the motel. They didn’t have any other lead at the moment and showing up all four at the woman’s house might have done more harm than good. The older hunter, for once, didn’t complain about having been left on the sidelines. It had taken him an unhealthy amount of coffee and greasy breakfast to return to the world of the living that morning, because after dinner he had decided to leave the others to their affairs and go for a walk. Or, at least that had been the idea, but his night had lasted longer and become busier than he had planned.

After they had driven back to their room, Dean had left the motel parking lot wanting to have some alone time, to sort out the thoughts that had haunted him all day, and surely not intending to gain a hangover, especially since they were on a case. However, at some point of his walk, he had found that he had nowhere else to go in the unfamiliar city, and, since he hadn’t been ready to go back to the motel just yet, he had ended up in the closest bar. He had sat down at the counter and ordered himself a drink. The alcohol was supposed to be nothing but a distraction, and not a remedy for his emotional pain as it had been in the last weeks. For once, he hadn’t been feeling the boiling need to down it in a go and ask for more. He had been just wishing for something to keep his hands busy while he was busy examining his head, something familiar that could ground him without pushing him to drift off completely.

The realisation had struck him deeply for how unusual it was, especially considering the precedents, and for the rest of the evening he had remained lost in his thoughts, ordering more glasses merely out of habit and even ignoring the barmaid’s attempts at flirting. Before he could realise it, a few hours had passed and, since closing time had been approaching, he had found himself stumbling back to the motel, half drunk and with the blonde’s phone number, which he had had no intention to get or use, stashed in the pocket of his jacket. The paper napkin, in fact, had ended up in the trash a moment before he had collapsed on his bed and passed out.

He remembered thinking about how glad he had been that Sam had gone to sleep already when he had come back, because he hadn’t been in the mood for a scolding. Or in any shape to bear it. Castiel and Jack had been up, instead, since none of them really slept, but they had chosen, for everyone’s sake, not to acknowledge his state. The angel had refrained from commenting and had just greeted him, while the nephilim had looked at him curiously when he had ruffled his hair while passing him. Dean had no idea of why he had. It had been a gesture born out of instinct, as most things he did while wasted were.

Now he was once again alone with Castiel and the latter was patiently waiting for his friend to make himself presentable, giving him time and personal space, even if he was worried. The angel could still sense that Dean was constantly troubled by something and the little drunk show the human had put on the night before had just deepened his concern.

When Dean finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed and looking soberer and mostly awake, Castiel decided that it was his chance to try again to get some answers. “Dean, we need to talk,” he started in a tone that, while still soft, was more determined than the ones he had used during his previous attempts to approach the subject. He didn’t want to scare the other off immediately, but he also didn’t want to be cut off for the umpteenth time. “I’m worried…”

“Cas, I already told you. This isn’t a good time for some chick flick crap,” Dean interjected just as he had done all the previous times, without allowing the angel to even finish the sentence. He rubbed his face and let out a heavy sigh. He knew very well where that speech would end. His best friend being worried meant that he didn’t want to talk about Jack, which would have been bad enough, but that he wanted to discuss Dean’s condition, which was even worse. The hunter knew that he couldn’t have kept on deflecting forever, but he still hoped that he could have bought enough time to be able to clear his head and force himself to face whatever was wrong with him.

“Then when is the time going to be right? We can’t keep postponing important matters. We can never know when we might lose the chance to, Dean,” Cas stated, almost echoing the older Winchester’s thoughts, sounding deadly serious.

The angel knew that he was right. Having been killed again and finding himself thinking that, this one time, he wouldn’t be allowed to come back had made him understand that in their lives nothing lasted forever and that the “right time” might never come. The clock kept ticking, merciless and uncaring of their needs and wishes. They had lost so many chances in the past, precious occasions that would never come back, for the sake of being too stubborn or too prideful. How many more would they have to lose before learning that lesson fully? How many subjects would stay unspoken because one of them would end up dead again before they could find the courage to talk, before it would be once again too late? And what if the next time the end would have been really permanent?

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean started to shoot back, feeling anger and exasperation building in his chest. He didn’t want to fight, not when his best friend had been back only for a bit more than a day, but he didn’t know how else to react. Why couldn’t the angel understand that he couldn’t face that now? He couldn’t have even if he had wanted to. Not when he didn’t even know what exactly he was supposed to be dealing with. Not when he couldn’t put up with whatever long overdue epiphany was waiting ahead for him, hidden behind the thick wall of his denial, with whatever harsh truth was pushing for him to open his eyes and just accept to see it. “I told you no-”

Before he could finish the sentence and speak words that he might have ended up regretting later, he was interrupted by the ring of his phone. He didn’t waste any time to answer, gladly turning away from Castiel to get the call. For once his brother had had the best timing, saving him from a discussion he wasn’t ready and especially willing to have. Not yet, and perhaps not _ever_. “Yeah, Sam?”

 _“Hey. Well… she’s not home, but Jack had a bad feeling and convinced me to get inside the house and it turns out, she’s our witch_ ,” the younger hunter’s voice replied from the other side of the line _. “She has a bunch of spell books and we found potions and ingredients and other weird stuff in the basement.”_

“Dammit, alright.” Dean rubbed his forehead. Why couldn’t things be a bit easier, at least for once? “Stay there and look around. Maybe you’ll find some leads to our missing guy or maybe she keeps him there somewhere?”

 _“Okay, we can do that. Listen, I found an old employee entry pass to a local museum. It’s like two streets away from our motel.”_ _  
_

“Good. Cas and I will check that one out. Give me a call if she comes back and we’ll join you. You two be careful there.”

“ _You too. Don’t do anything rushed._ ”

Dean nodded, even if Sam couldn’t see him, and ended the call before turning back to Castiel, their previous conversation long forgotten. “Let’s go, we gotta find a witch,” he said, reaching out to grab his jacket and his gun. He had loaded it with witch-killing bullets after they had found out what they would be dealing with. If the bitch wasn’t home, perhaps she could be at that damned museum. He almost hoped that they would find her there. A fight was what he needed to get all that tension out of his body. Maybe, in the aftermath, he might have felt like thinking a bit more.

Castiel bit back a sigh, but nodded without voicing all the protests that had come to his lips. Perhaps Dean was right, perhaps it wasn’t the right time to have that conversation, in spite of everything. The case had the priority, so, for now, he would have let the matter rest and waited until the hunt was over.

It took them around twenty minutes to reach the museum and Dean groaned at the sight of it. “You gotta be kidding me. A freaking _doll museum_? Could this fucking case get more creepy?” He commented as they headed for the entrance. And then Sam had the guts to talk back when he complained about witches being the worst, weirdest shit they had to deal with.

Once inside, the hunter immediately stalked off to talk to the receptionist and learned that the woman they were looking for was indeed one of the museum employees. The man informed him that her job consisted for the most in repairing and restoring the dolls. However, she had yet to come to work that day, which was unusual, since he couldn’t recall a day she had skipped, not even after her brother’s disappearance.

The fact made Dean even more suspicious. Experience had taught him that a shift in the suspects’ behaviour patterns was never a good sign. It usually meant that they were planning something bigger and nastier. Perhaps it could mean that their witch was approaching the final stage of her plan. They had to find and stop her before that happened, quickly. They were running out of time.

With renewed determination, he flashed his FBI badge, gesturing Castiel to do the same, and demanded to be allowed entrance and permission to have a look around the museum. The receptionist almost seemed to be about to protest, but when his eyes fell away from the badge and on the gun that the hunter was carrying in the waistband of his jeans he seemed to change his mind. Whatever his colleague had done to bring the FBI to their workplace, he didn’t want to be involved. So he just shrugged and told them to have fun. The older Winchester grumbled a sarcastic comment at that, but didn’t stop to discuss further, marching past the gate that had been opened for them instead, the angel hot on his heels.

Even if it was almost obvious that they wouldn’t have found anything there, the two chose to have a look at the main part of the museum, the one open to the public, just to be sure. The place was bigger than it had appeared from the outside and the rooms were divided according to what age the dolls on show belonged to. There were also a couple of corridors where temporary exhibition had been set up, gathering objects from different centuries, all revolving around the same theme.

Despite the hurry that their search imposed on them, the hunter couldn’t help stopping in front of some of the showcases, his eyes captured either by the creepy realism of some of the dolls or by the absurdity of the costumes they were wearing. He really couldn’t fathom why people would be willing not just to pay to own some of those odd pieces of “art”, but also to come in places like that one and spend _hours_ looking at them. The appeal was completely lost to him and he, in a way, was thankful. It meant that he would never risk going crazy and start doing some fucked up black magic that implied stealing organs and replacing them with fake ones for who knows what reason. If he had gone nuts, _again_ , he would have probably just leave behind some normal gory scenes.

Once they were done checking the various room, without having found anything relevant, they stopped another employee, asking where the laboratories were set, and the woman directed them to the basement, adding that she thought of having seen the person they were looking for heading down there a couple of hours before, even if she wasn’t completely sure. Castiel and Dean exchanged a look. If the witch hadn’t gone back home after sneaking inside, she was probably still in the labs. There was no more time to waste.

Saying that the basement was spooky would have been an understatement. The lights were low and the old floor was stained with substances of different colours. They were most likely whatever things the restorers used to fix the broken or damaged dolls, but Dean couldn’t help thinking that some of the smudges looked like dried blood. The fact that the long corridor, with the doors of the several labs that opened on it, reminded him of the ones of an abandoned asylum didn’t help the mental picture he was slowly building in his head. He wanted to find the bitch, shoot her and be done with that place. And he wanted it to happen _fast_.

They began to check the rooms, one by one, finding them deserted. There seemed to be no one and nothing there, aside from the working tools and the lines of dolls still waiting for repairs. Their empty eyes gave the older Winchester the creeps and, when he turned to look at Castiel, he found the angel frowning too. That couldn’t be a good sign. He was almost tempted to ask the other if he was perceiving something in particular or if he was simply as disturbed as he was by the general atmosphere, but decided that risking to speak and perhaps alerting the witch wasn’t worth it. So he just closed the door of the room they had just finished looking at and moved to the next one.

Castiel, on his part, remained quiet too. There was something in the air, a vibe that he couldn’t fully decode. It was dark, powerful and it tasted like danger. Ancient magic, of the kind that always demanded a very high price from whoever practiced it. A price that was paid with significative amounts of blood and living sacrifices. Whatever was going on in the basement of that building wasn’t good. He felt glad that Jack and Sam hadn’t found the woman at home. As irrationally as it might sound, he didn’t want her anywhere near the boy. The nephilim would have been no match for any human, not even a powerful witch, one at Rowena’s level, but Jack was still learning to use his powers and who knows what kind of damage could have been done before he had managed to fight her back.

They checked a few more laboratories before they ended up in front of a door that seemed to be locked. The dark vibe was stronger there and it seemed to come from inside the room. Castiel turned to offer Dean a nod and the hunter silently met his eyes, before extracting his gun. His shoulders tensed slightly, body preparing for a fight, before he shot the lock and kicked the door open, raising his weapon, ready to fire again.

The room that presented to them, however, was empty, or so it seemed. The place was wrapped in dim darkness and was just as quiet as the rest of the basement. They slowly walked inside, glancing around carefully for any sign of movement. It wasn’t much different from the others either and was filled with shelves and instrumentation not dissimilar from the one they had already seen. There were even a few dolls perched around. However, unlike the other laboratories, this one was dustier and most of the tools looked like they hadn’t been used in quite some time.

What almost immediately caught Castiel’s and Dean’s attention, though, wasn’t the dirt or the stale smell of the air, but the makeshift hospital set at the bottom of the room. Laying on it there was a man, hooked to some medical equipment that seemed to be a more outdated, less shinier version of the machines that filled the Styne family’s labs. The older Winchester shivered at the memory of his last visit to the mansion and of what he had done. The terrified, helpless look in Cyrus’s eyes still haunted him at times and he was sure that it would never stop.

Dean shook his head and did his best to chase away those thoughts. That wasn’t the right moment for a trip down the darkest meanderings of his memory lane, especially the parts that concerned his period as the Bearer of the Mark. He had already too much he needed to deal with and rivisiting major traumas and regrets wouldn’t help him. Not to mention that he was in the middle of a hunt and he should stay focused on the present. And, besides, that was a part of his existence he wished he could just forget, since he couldn’t unmake it.

So, instead, he lowered his weapon a bit and approached the bed. The man didn’t look in good shape. Quite the contrary. He was bare-chested and the hunter had reasons to believe that, under the sheets, the lower half of his body had to be naked too. His skin was pale, too pale to be healthy or even _alive_ , even if his chest raised and fell regularly thanks to the ventilator to which his lungs were connected. There were several sewed wounds all over his flesh, as if someone had assiduously opened him up several times and then stitched him back together. The result was quite creepy and the fact that the guy’s face was a mess of badly healed bruises just made the show even more disturbing. There was blood caked on one side of his head and the skull seemed hollow too there, but it was hard to be sure, with how swollen the flesh was.

Dean made a face. He couldn’t even tell for certain if the guy was dead or alive. From the smell, he would be ready to bet on the former, despite the fact that the medical equipment showed actual life signs. He tilted his head, studying the stranger’s features more attentively. They seemed familiar now that he had the chance to have a better look at the body and, suddenly, his mind connected all the dots. He knew this man. He was the missing person they had been trying to track down.

“Holy shit!” He hissed under his breath and made to turn towards Castiel. “Hey, dude, com…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, though, because, out of the blue, a wave of energy hit him, sending him flying against the wall. His head collided with the hard surface and he let out a heavy curse as his sight blurred. Apparently they weren’t alone in the room. The witch had to have been hiding somewhere, most likely behind one of the shelves, in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. He swore mentally. He shouldn’t have got distracted.

As soon as his vision started to clear again, with a groan that was both pained and angry, he struggled to get back on his feet, his fingers finding something hot and wet in the spot where his skull had impacted with the cement. His head was spinning, badly enough to tell him that he had probably gained a concussion, but his mind still managed to reconnect with the present just in time to register some shouted, foreign words. The voice speaking them was female, but it was distorted by whatever spell it was chanting, to the point that it sounded almost demonic. Then, suddenly, a flash of blinding light filled the previously dark room and the next sound, which followed after an eerie silence, made Dean’s blood run cold and a sick feeling spreading in his stomach. Another, loud scream. And this time it was Castiel’s voice.

 

*****

 

While Dean had headed straight for the makeshift hospital bed, Castiel had lingered backwards, looking around and studying the dim darkness that surrounded the room. He now had no doubts that the dark energy he was sensing came from inside that room, but he couldn’t pinpoint the precise source of that power and he didn’t like it.

His deep blue eyes scanned the room once again, looking for answers. Part of the magical energy seemed to be emanated by the man, or the _corpse_ , lying on the bed. He could see the human’s soul, under the sewed pallor of the skin, but there was something off about it. Something _unnatural_ . It was as if the soul had been encaged and _stitched_ to its material body, just as most parts of the stranger seemed to be. It shouldn’t have been there, not anymore, but someone had stolen it away from its rightful place and forced it back in the almost rotting flesh.

The angel paused his search for a moment, fixing his gaze on the unconscious human the hunter was examining. The sight was disturbing, to say the least, as very few things he had witnessed were. And he had seen a lot during the centuries. Abominations, monsters, demons, the souls tortured in Hell, every kind of hybrid, soulless humans. Purgatory was filled with horrors and he and Dean had spent a whole year trapped there. For some reason, though, the vision of that particular spirit, withering inside its material confinement and attached to it by an ugly black thread, made his Grace tremble. Not in fear, but in _disgust_. Even if the magic that was being attempted there had been successful, it wouldn’t have been able to stop the soul’s decay. It would have gone on decomposing inside its forced prison, like a spoilt piece of flesh deprived of the blood vessels and the oxygen that were necessary to keep it alive and healthy. However, while a physical gangrene would eventually kill its bearer, there was no predicting what kind of monster could have been born out of a rotting soul.

Dean’s cursing was what brought him back to the present, breaking the trail of the the thoughts in which he had lost himself without realising it. However, the angel didn’t have the time to react, just as the hunter wasn’t able to finish his sentence, because the blast of energy hit him too, catching him off guard, with enough force to shove him down on the cold, dusty floor.

A groan was torn out of Castiel’s lips, but, unlike the older Winchester, he wasn’t incapacitated and managed to recover almost instantly. His eyes darted towards the source of the wave of energy and quickly found the figure of their aggressor. She was standing a few metres away from him, just next to one of the metal shelves near the wall. The piece of furniture was slightly moved, which made it plausible to think that the woman had been hiding behind it, pressed against the wall, hidden in the dark. Her dark clothes were covered in dust, fact that seemed to be supporting that hypothesis. The lack of light had been the perfect cover for her hideout, making it seem just one of the many thick shadows and, if she hadn’t come out, they would have probably never noticed her.

Those weren’t, though, the thoughts that ran through the angel’s mind as he looked at her. Instead he took in the unhealthy whiteness of her skin, which made her look barely alive, just as the man in the bed, the deep, dark bags under her bloodshot eyes and the desperate rage that filled her expression. She had to have been a beautiful woman, with flooding dark hair and very attractive light green irises, before the pain, the mourning and the obsession had taken over and consumed her. Now she just looked like a too thin shell that, once full of life, was now possessed by nothing but dark power, suffocating emptiness and the hints of a budding, already deep madness.

The witch let out an almost animalistic hiss and raised her hands. The tips of her fingers started to glow with magical energy, shocking red sparks vibrating on her skin as she prepared to attack again, and her eyes widened, flaring with the same crimson light. She wasn’t tall and, if Castiel had been standing, she would have barely reached past his shoulders, but in that moment, as the power grew around her, she gave off the impression that she could have easily towered over both him and Dean.

The air suddenly became thick again and the angel decided that it was his clue to hurry up and do something, before she could hit one of them again. In a second, he was back on his feet, angel blade firmly held in his hand, and he was launching him towards the woman. He managed to tackle her before she could launch her spell, which had seemed to be aimed in Dean’s direction. Perhaps it had been a rushed move, especially considering what had happened the last time he had thrown himself on an enemy that was attacking the Winchesters, but he didn’t stop to think. He wasn’t fighting Lucifer, or one of his brothers. As powerful as she might be, his adversary was still human. It was a risk he could take, or at least this was what he was trying to tell himself. The knowledge still wasn’t enough to prevent a hollow feeling to settle inside his chest, in the same spot where the Morningstar’s blade had emerged when the archangel had stabbed him.

The two rolled on the dusty floor, the blade dangerously swinging between their chests. Despite her scrawny looks, the witch was incredibly strong, even though it was hard to tell if it was the effect of the umpteenth spell or if it was that unique kind of strength that only desperation could gift. He had witnessed humans doing the unthinkable, and the _impossible_ , just because they had been plumbed in the depths of hopelessness, pain and loss. So, when the woman eventually managed to shove him off, he wasn’t completely caught off guard and that allowed him to quickly get back on his feet.

However, this time he wasn’t fast enough. The witch didn’t bother to raise from where she had ended up on her knees and instead she started to chant, the reddish energy filling her eyes once again. Castiel found that he couldn’t move, his Grace and wings trapped in the invisible net that the ancient curse was weaving around him. He could just watch, as her voice grew louder and deeper, hoarser, until an explosion of light blinded him. At that point, whatever had been forcing him into stillness suddenly disappeared and he stumbled forward, reaching out blindly for his opponent, groping the electricity-filled air in front of him.

What happened next was too quick for him to register. His fingers closed around the cloth of the woman’s shirt, but she hastily yanked it out of his grasp. All he felt after that were a push, which made him spin around, her hand on his shoulder, brutal and tough, and then a shock of pain running down his spine as something sharp sunk past his skin and muscles, sticking itself between his vertebras and _tearing_ apart everything it found.

He didn’t even realise that he was screaming until he heard the echo of his own voice filling the room. His legs gave out, losing sensibility, and he felt panic surging in his chest as the terrifying memories of the last, deadly wound he had received exploded in his mind. He struggled to breathe and to regain control of himself, fighting back the paralysing dread that was threatening to take over him. Despite the biting pain and the damage to his vessel, he tried to remind himself that he hadn’t been stabbed with an angel blade. The knife, or whatever the witch had used to wound him, hadn’t been pushed through his true core. The burning in his true form wasn’t real, _present._ It was a vivid memory, not a reality. He wasn’t being pushed down into the nothingness of the Empty once again. Not this time.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on estimating the real extent of the damage he had received. There was blood pouring out of the wound and he could tell that part of his spinal nerves had been cut off, but the main issue was that he couldn’t heal himself. He still felt his Grace, but it was as if it was stuck, encaged inside his vessel in a way that wasn’t so dissimilar from the forced bond that was keeping the soul trapped inside the unconscious man’s body. He couldn’t access his powers and that left him as vulnerable as any human, even if more resilient. The wound wouldn’t kill him, or at least it _shouldn’t_ have, as long as they managed to find a way to free his trapped essence.

His mind raced. It had to be the effect of whatever curse the woman had launched on him before attacking. She had somehow _sealed_ his angelic powers and, most likely, the only way to undo it was to track her down and force her to lift the spell. Or kill her.

“Cas!”

Dean’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and moment later the hunter had more or less thrown himself next to him on the floor, a hand gripping hard at his arm as he helped Castiel to turn on his side. The human’s green orbs were filled with the same kind of panic that the angel himself had experienced just a few moments before and they were frantically moving between his face and the wound on his back.

“That _bitch_!” The older Winchester growled out, his breath coming out in too short pants, more because of his emotional turmoil than because of his injuries.

As soon as he had recovered from hearing his best friend’s scream, he had bolted towards the fallen angel, tripping on one of the old medical machines in the process. His hip was aching in the spot where the sturdy plastic corner had dug into his flesh, but he was barely aware of it, just as he wasn’t paying any attention at the pulsing pain in the back of his head. Or to the fact that he was feeling slightly nauseous. All he could focused on was the sweat that covered Castiel’s pained expression and the blood that had already spread a ruby, large stain on the back of the other’s trench coat.

His hands shook as the image of the last time he had been kneeling at Castiel’s side flashed in his mind. The angel had been _dead_ back then and he couldn’t help the irrational fear that it would be happening again. He didn’t know what he would have done if it had. He didn’t want to fall back into that endless darkness, consumed by that never satisfied, burning and yet dull pain that had filled his days and his thoughts. He didn’t want to lose the sight of the light once again, to drown in the shadows of his own demons. He didn’t want to crave for nothing but self-destruction once again, gripping at every single bottle of alcohol he could reach and jumping on every chance he got to cover the emotional sorrow with physical aching. He didn’t want to go back dumping on Sam’s shoulders the burden of keeping them all standing, to go back being unable to hope. He didn’t want to lose that one single win that had been his only lifesaver. It would have been too much to bear.

“ _Fuck_ !” He cursed again, his voice sounding much angrier than before. Why wasn’t the angel healing himself? Should he remove that cursed thing stuck in his back? And what the hell was it? “Who’s the madman that stabs people with a fucking _scalpel_ ?!” Honestly, he couldn’t have cared less about with what the witch had stabbed his best friend in that moment, but the words were tumbling out of his mouth without control. “This is sick! This, the freaking zombie in that bed and...and all these damned broken _dolls_ and -”

“Dean,” Castiel tried to step in, but from how unfocused the hunter’s eyes were it was easy to tell that the human hadn’t heard him as he went on ranting. Despite his own conditions, he couldn’t help feeling a deep worry growing in his chest. The only times he had seen the older Winchester so panicked had been when Sam had been in grave danger, but even in those situations, for the most, Dean had always managed to regain the slightest hint of control. Right now, instead, he looked like he had lost it completely. He had to do something, before the human gave himself a heart attack.

“ _Dean_!” He tried again, in a firmer, louder voice. He even forced himself to reach out and grab his best friend’s arm, squeezing it as hard as he could with his numb fingers.

This time, the man seemed to hear him, because he cut himself off mid-sentence and his green eyes finally moved away from the wound and landed once on the angel’s face. He didn’t speak a word, but he looked like he had in part regained a connection with reality and Castiel decided that, for the moment, it was good enough.

“Dean, I am not going to die,” the angel resumed, spelling each word slowly, to make sure that they sank in. It hadn’t been hard to guess that they had both shared the same fear, with the difference that he had managed to calm himself down, while Dean’s thoughts had to have spiralled down towards the worst-case scenario. “The witch put a curse on me. I cannot access my Grace. That’s why I’m bleeding and why I can’t move. But I’m still an angel. It’s just a flesh wound for me. I can hold on, Dean.” Or at least that was what he hoped. However, he couldn’t afford to give into those doubts, for the sake of them both. “But I need your help.”

The hunter shook his head. Later, remembering that episode, he would have probably felt embarrassment, remembering how he had lost his cool, but in that moment his head still felt too light and his heart still beat too fast to allow him to care. The thought that Castiel couldn’t heal himself, that he might keep on bleeding, until his vessel would be drained, was scaring the hell out of him, but his best friend was right. They could work with it. He just needed to get a grip of himself and stop acting like an idiot. He had spent his whole life working under pressure, he had walked on thin ice more often than not, knowing that his choices could either save or doom the whole world. He wouldn’t allow his own emotions to overwhelm him. Not when he might be able to save the angel this time.

“I know! Like hell I’m letting you die again!” He exclaimed, with more vehemence than it was necessary, and he had to bite back a wince at the loud sound of his own voice. “I...I’ll fix this,” he continued, more quietly. There was a strong hint of hesitation in his tone, but he pretended not to have noticed it. Instead, he allowed his instinct and experience to kick in. “Just...Just hold on. I’m gonna find something to fix this damn scalpel and to stop the bleeding. Taking it out here is too dangerous, especially considering that...” His breath hitched, but he kept going. “Considering that your angel mojo is offline. Come on. We need to move you.”

Sucking in a breath, he shifted in a crouched position and hooked his forearms under Castiel’s armpit, carefully dragging him towards the closest wall. Thankfully it wasn’t far, because the angel was a dead weight and he was still shaking, both for his probable concussion and for the strong emotions that still threatened to steal his lucidity away.

The angel allowed the man to move him, doing the little he could to help him out, half paralysed as he was. He used his arms to lean his left shoulder heavily against the wall, once they had reached it, and then offered his best friend a small nod, to tell him that he would be fine if he was left alone for a few minutes. It would also allow him to compose himself because, even if the hunter seemed to have calmed down, he could tell by the tension in the other’s shoulders how easily it would have been to set him off again.

Dean quickly made his way back to hospital bed. The witch had been cutting open the man’s body and stitching it back several times, so there should be medical supplies lying around somewhere. He rummaged in the few drawers that were set under the machines until he found a roll of medical tape, a few, more or less clean gauzes and a bandage. He also grabbed a bottle of saline solution, to wash the wound, hoping that it wouldn’t be as ancient as the rest of the medical equipment seemed to be. He spent a few moments looking for any kind of medication or painkillers, but he didn’t find any, just as he had thought. The guy on the bed surely didn’t need any of it, in his status.

“Now, I need you to be still,” he said, once he was back kneeling at the the angel’s side. He would need to be extra careful, or he would have just worsened the bleeding. “I’ll try to be as quick as possible, but you need to be patient, man.”

He set down the supplies and pulled out his hunting knife from the inner pocket of his jacket. Carefully, he used the sharp way to cut the cloth around the wound, until he had exposed the point where the scalpel was. After having used the saline solution and a few gauzes to wash most of the blood away, it became evident that the tool was stuck deep inside the angel’s body, down to the handle. Dean frowned at the sight, but he also reminded himself that it could be a good thing, for their situation. It meant that it wouldn’t move unless it was pulled or pushed and that would have made securing it easier. He didn’t have to worry about long-term spinal damage, because Castiel’s Grace would take care of everything, once the curse would be lifted. He swallowed quietly. He had to think only of the short-term.

Trying to keep his mind on that last knowledge, he focused back on his task. He finished cleaning the wound as much as possible and then moved to press remaining gauzes around the scalpel, making sure that they would apply a certain amount of pressure and using the medical tape to fix them in place. He pondered whether or not to try and wrap the bandage around the angel’s chest, to make sure that his makeshift medication would hold on better, but one look at his best friend’s pale face told him that it wasn’t a good idea.

“There, it’s done,” he announced, pressing his fingers on the gauzes one last time before moving away. He crawled around Castiel’s slouched figure, holding what was left of the saline solution, till he was once again face to face with him. He settled down on his knees, reaching out to cup the other’s jaw with his free hand as he brought the bottle near his lips. He felt his stomach clenching slightly at how wet with sweat the cold the skin under his palm was, but he did his best to ignore the feeling. “Come on, drink up. It will make you feel better. Then I’ll see if I can get us out of here.”

Castiel nodded, doing his best to swallow the small sips of liquid he was being administered. His throat felt dry and he could feel his vessel’s skin cooling slowly for the loss of fluids. The pain in his back had become a dull aching, but he could tell that it was hardly a good sign. However, he also had the impression that the blood was dripping out of his body more slowly now that Dean had taken care of the wound and he decided to focus on that, instead of on the fact that his material form was most likely going into shock. His body was rigid for the efforts he had done to keep still while the hunter medicated him, but he found that he could still move his arms and fingers despite the general feeling of numbness he was experiencing in all his limbs.

He took a deep breath through his nose. It wasn’t the worst discomfort he had physically experienced. He could endure it until they had found a way to break the spell. He only wished that he could have got in a more comfortable position, but the blade in his back made it impossible.

“Thank you, Dean,” he managed to say in a hoarse voice. The water had helped a bit and his tongue felt less heavy now. “Go...Go check the door. I’ll be fine.”

Dean looked slightly reluctant for a moment, not wanting to leave his best friend alone again, even if not for long, but then he nodded and pushed himself up once again. He needed to see if they had a way out of that dusty basement. His head spun for a few seconds and he had to grit his teeth, hard, not to sway. Stupid wound. He couldn’t deal with it, not now. He had to take care of Castiel. His damned head would have to wait.

The hunter made his way towards the door as quickly as his conditions allowed him to. It didn’t look any different from how it had been when they had first stepped inside, but when he tried to push it open, it felt like trying to move a wall of reinforced concrete. Dean scowled deeply and tried a few more times, but it soon became clear that the door wasn’t simply stuck. There had to be an hex bag on the other side or some other form of magic that kept it sealed, preventing them from opening it from the inside.

In a surge of renewed anger and worry, he kicked the metal hard, but all he gained from the gesture was just a new shock of hot pain running up his leg. Muttering a curse under his breath, he pulled out his phone, just to find that there was no signal in that god-forgotten basement. He couldn’t call Sam, neither to ask for help nor to warn him that the witch was coming. The fingers of his free hand sank in his short hair and pulled, _hard._ Could this get any worse? Knowing the usual Winchester luck, the answer was most likely a positive one and he was afraid to find out how that might have happened.

His green eyes instantly darted towards his best friend, but he shook his head violently. No. Castiel would be fine this time. He _needed_ the angel to be fine. He had to calm down and try to be rational. Having a panic attack or starting to punch the walls wouldn’t help any of them. Jack and Sam would ice the bitch and then come to look for them. After all, his brother knew that he and the angel would have gone to check the museum. The younger man was smart. Not receiving news from them and finding that he couldn’t reach them on phone, he would put the dots together. He and the boy would get there as soon as the witch would be dealt with. Till then, he just had to worry about making sure that his best friend would hold on.

“We’re stuck in this freakin’ place till rescue comes. There’s not even the fucking signal,” he grumbled once he had made his way back to where the angel was. He sat down next to him and leant his back against the wall, carefully resting his swollen nape on the cool surface. The cold soothed the throbbing of the wound a little and he slowly turned his head so that he could look at his companion. “But don’t worry, Sammy and the kid will take care of the bitch and then come and collect our sorry asses.”

Castiel offered a small, tired nod. “I’m not concerned,” he replied, even if it wasn’t the complete truth. Anxiety and a hint of dread still whirled in his chest, even if he was refusing to acknowledging them once again. “Your brother is a very capable hunter. One of the bests. And Jack has already proven himself useful, from what you and Sam have told me. Despite the...accidents. And they will be expecting her, since we didn’t tell them otherwise. They will not be caught...unprepared.”

Dean scoffed with bitter amusement at the last sentence. “Yeah. Usually Sam doesn’t get as distracted as I do,” he commented, with a hint of displeasure. That mess was his fault. If he hadn’t lowered his guard as he had at the sight of the man on the hospital bed, perhaps they would have been able to put on a bit more of a fight. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been knocked out and he would have been able to prevent the woman from harming his best friend. Instead he had allowed his own feelings to overwhelm him once again and that was the result.

He ran a hand on his face, openly frowning. All those what-ifs weren’t helping the situation, he was well aware of the fact, but he couldn’t help drowning himself in his own self-loathing. He had done it so often in his life that, as unpleasant as it was, the feeling almost tasted like home, deep down.

The angel felt a surge of exasperation and found himself raising his eyes towards the ceiling, despite his weakened state. If the tone that the older Winchester had used hadn’t been enough of a clue to grasp what the human had to be thinking, his expression was a tell-all. Besides, he had known the two brothers for long enough to be able to guess what might be on their minds, _especially_ when it came to the elder.

“Dean, this isn’t your fault. She set up a trap for us. And I should have paid more attention myself,” he interjected, breaking the human’s trail of thoughts. He weakly raised a hand, preventing the other from opening his mouth and talking back. “What happened...that day with Lucifer wasn’t your fault either,” he went on and his voice shook only for a moment before steading and becoming determined. “I made my choice back then. And so did your mother, Dean. You cannot keep throwing all the burdens of the world on your shoulders. Because, no matter how strong and used to it you can be, it will eventually end up being too much to bear.”

The “how happened this time” lingered between then, unsaid but still heavy. Dean’s eyes had dropped away from the angel’s face and were now glaring holes in the floor. He could already tell where his best friend’s speech was heading for and he didn’t like it. The day before, and that morning too, he had been able to dismiss and avoid that unwanted conversation because they had had more urgent things to deal with, but how could have he now that they were stuck in a basement with nothing to do but trying to stay alive and wait for someone to rescue them?

“Cas, man, come on. Do we really have to do this _now_?” The older Winchester asked with a deep sigh, letting his eyelids fall shut. His head was starting to feel heavy again, or perhaps it was just starting to stop feeling light. He couldn’t tell, but it was also true that he wasn’t really trying to read into the sensation either. “We’ll be stuck in here for who knows how much, you’ve got a scalpel in your spine and I have concussion. This is hardly the right moment to have a serious, heart-to-heart talk, don’t you agree?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, the exasperation on his face starting to take a more proper, annoyed hue. “I disagree. I believe that the fact that we are stuck here makes it a good chance for us to have this talk, Dean,” he stated, firmly, his voice having regained a bit of strength. The makeshift bandage that the hunter had applied to his back seemed to have effectively, almost completely stopped the bleeding and that was allowing him a bit of a break, even if he was still feeling weak and numb. “You have been evading me since yesterday. Now you cannot.”

He searched the hunter’s face, but found only reluctance. His approached wasn’t working and Dean was looking more and more like a caged animal ready to bolt. He sighed heavily, but then his eyes focused back on the man’s face, blue irises shining slightly in the dim darkness. “Dean, we _need_ to have this conversation. You know it as well as I do. What I’m really wondering is…” He allowed his voice to trail off for a moment as he tried to meet the human’s eyes, but in vain, since they were still fixed on the floor. “Why are you so reluctant, Dean? What are you really afraid of?”

Despite himself, Dean found himself lifting his gaze at the question and, especially, at the intense tone that the angel had used to ask it. His forest green eyes met Castiel’s deep blue ones for a moment, before he averted them away, this time towards the other side of the room. The inquiry kept echoing in his head, no matter how hard he tried to hush his own thoughts or to chase it away. There was no getting away, just as he most likely wouldn’t have been able to avoid the confrontation with his best friend this time.

He took a deep breath through his nose. Perhaps he should take the hint and face all the feelings he had been so carefully avoiding once and for all. Why exactly was he trying so hard and desperately _not_ to have this conversation? A few memories instantly rushed through his mind, as he carefully considered the question. The times in which he had accused Jack of being nothing but another evil incarnated, the way in which he had treated the boy and the names he had called him. All actions that now made him feel extremely ashamed of himself, just as the thought of how cruelly and purposefully he had attempted to crush Sam’s already fragile, but stubborn hopes. He had been so full of darkness that he had felt the physical need to unleash it on the world around him. He couldn’t bear the thought that he was the only one plunged into that pitch dark, while everyone around him, somehow, still had the light of hope. It had felt _wrong_ , after everything the had lost.

He felt a small shiver running down his spine. The only other time he had felt so overwhelmed by his emotions, if one didn’t count his forty years in Hell, had been when he was carrying the Mark of Cain on his arm. The darkness that the seal had spread inside his mind and soul had been of a different kind, bloodier, colder, but the intensity of the feeling had been the same. He had felt lost in the black power coursing through him, to the point that he had let it twist his soul in something ugly and _demonic,_ just as he had drowned in the thick hopelessness that had filled his last few weeks. Still, all that didn’t answer to the main question. _Why?_ Why had he fallen so deep into it this time?

He had to fight back the strong impulse to hide his head in his hands. He was pretty sure that his expression was more telling than he would have ever liked it to be, so he didn’t want to add any other embarrassing behaviour to the picture. For the first time since they had stepped in the basement, he was grateful for the cover that the dim darkness was offering.

He bit the inner side of his cheek, hard enough to taste blood. His mind was trying to stall, focusing on less fundamental details, and he couldn’t afford that. Now that he had started along that path, there was no going back. It wouldn’t have made sense, especially since he doubted that he could have just repressed it all again.

“Why…” He breathed out almost without realising it. He had faced losses before. He had seen his mother burning on a ceiling. His father had sold his _soul_ to save his life. He had lost friends and people he had come to consider family in bloody, horrible way. Ellen and Jo, Ash, Bobby, Charlie, and the list was much, much longer. Then there were all the innocence people he had failed to save. What had been different? Had it been losing Mary again, after they had just got her back? No, that wasn’t enough of a reason. After all, they didn’t even know for sure if that was true. She could have been still alive, as Sam seemed to strongly believe, for how unlikely it was, considering that she was stuck in a post-apocalyptic world with Satan himself. There had been still a chance to get her back, there still was, even if he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

He closed his eyes again, feeling the tension that had been building in his shoulder suddenly relaxing. The feeling, however, wasn’t pleasant, as one might have thought. It wasn’t calm that had removed the pressure that his body had been trying to contain. On the contrary. It was as if his muscles had given out because the burden they had been asked to support was simply too much for them. The lassitude was almost physically _painful_ and it made his stomach clench in a spasm. If Mary wasn’t the reason why he had suddenly lost all hope, if she wasn’t the wound that had made all the light bleed out of him, then the answer he was looking for was the very same angel sat before him, on the cold, dusty floor of that cursed basement. It had _always_ been Castiel, even if he had always refused to admit it.

His mind flew back in time once again, days, months and years rushing before his eyes, too quick to be put into focus, but too intense not to be fully _felt_ . They had gone through so much together, almost as much as he and Sam had. However, while somehow he had always managed his relationship with his brother, despite the betrayals and the ups and downs, because its foundations had been set in stone since their childhood, things had been somehow _edgy_ between him and Castiel since their very first meeting.

The events of the Apocalypse had made the balance they had first established, with them both trying to fulfil their roles and follow their beliefs, come crushing down and had opened the door to whole new possibilities. The angel had rebelled, betrayed his kind, lost his Grace, _died_ for them. For _him_ . And that had been just the beginning. There had been the deal between Castiel and Crowley, a pact that his best friend had signed because he didn’t want to ruin _his_ chance at a normal life. A foolish mistake, which had cost them dearly, but that had been made with the purest intentions. Then the fight against the Leviathans, a battle that the angel had chosen to face even if back then his insane mind had been refusing the mere idea of fighting, and _Purgatory_ . Naomi and her manipulative plans. Metatron and the angels being kicked out of Heaven, a fall for which Castiel had taken all the blame, at the end of the day. How the other had struggled to come back to them, running on stolen Grace, so that he could help them finding a way to get rid of the Mark. To make _him_ human again. And again Castiel accepting to free Lucifer so that _he_ wouldn’t have to face the Darkness and because the angel had felt like he hadn’t done enough for them.

Dean shook his head. It sounded all so crazy. They had parted ways and come back together in the most improbable circumstances. And when he had felt like there would be no way for them to do it again, his entire world had collapsed, spiralling down in a black hole. Castiel was that one person, together with Sam, whom he couldn’t lose, without whom he couldn’t live. The angel was much more than his best friend, but he wasn’t his brother either. The warmth he felt when they were together were different from the one that Sam gifted him. It had another colour, a special hue he had seen and experienced very few times. However, those limited experiences were enough to recognise it. A single one would have been. After all, it was the kind of feeling that, once tasted, you could never forget.

The hunter bumped the sore back of his head against the cold wall. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, mostly out of incredulity than because of the renewed shock of pain. He knew that he could be blind at times, that he preferred avoiding to see the inconvenient truths and that he had years of biases and conditioning to cover them up, but _this_ …This was huge, too huge to cover, even for him. Or at least it should have been, while instead he had been able to blissfully ignore the fact for whole years, without even sparing a thought in that direction. Or rather, pretending that he hadn’t. He bit back a grown. What was he supposed to do now?

Despite the pressing need to speak he felt every time Dean’s expression took a different hue, Castiel forced himself to remain quiet and simply watched as the hunter struggled with himself. He knew that, if he had stepped in and interrupted the trail of the man’s thoughts, he could have risked preventing whatever realisation his best friend was slowly working towards from seeing the light. That would have been another mistake he would have regretted till the day of his final annihilation.

His breath hitched, against his will, when the hunter’s eyes widened and the human cursed under his breath, a very peculiar emotion flashing in those forest green orbs together with shock and pained incredulity. The angel furrowed his brows, knotting them together, as Dean banged his head against the wall before his expression shut off again, a sentiment that looked very dangerously like hesitant denial replacing all the other.

The expectant, slightly confused expression on Castiel’s face turned into a full frown at that. He didn’t know what exactly Dean had graped in those few, intense minutes, but he wasn’t going to allow the older Winchester to just bottle it down and pretend not to ever have had said epiphany. There was a feeling in his chest, a pressing, anxious one that told him that he _had_ to force his best friend to speak his mind, because, otherwise, the moment would be lost forever. It was almost as if a part of him already knew what was hiding in the recesses of the man’s mind. If he had been able to access to his Grace, he could have reached out for the borders of the human’s consciousness, stealing away his most superficial thoughts and getting an idea of what the man was considering hiding from him. It would have helped him understanding what to say to make the other talk and especially _how_ to say. However, that wasn’t currently possible, so he would have to rely on the means he had.

“Dean..,” he finally spoke again, trying to keep the agitation blossoming inside him out of his voice. He didn’t completely succeed, since a small, breathless, rushed note entered in his tone, but he kept talking, not to give his companion a chance to address it. “We’ve missed so many chances already, risked so much. We have both died a few times, and this last one, it felt…” His voice trailed off for a moment, hesitating. He didn’t want to pour salt over a still open, slightly bleeding wound, but he was aware that it would have been the most effective way to press the man to answer him. “It felt _real_. Definitive.”

A shiver ran along his sticky skin, at the memory of how _cold_ the Empty had been. The icy sensation filling his core, impregnating everything he was and felt, was what he remembered more vividly of that obscure realm. More than the dark, perhaps even more than the sense of _absence_ that permeated the void space around him. It was hard not to compare it to the shivers and the numbness he was experiencing now because of the blood loss.

He shook his head, trying to chase the unpleasant sensations away. “If I am taken from this world once more...I don’t want to leave behind unfinished business and unspoken truth. I don’t want regrets, Dean. At least not with you. Not again,” he resumed, clenching his fingers slightly. The tension in his shoulder was almost painful now and it reflected in how strained his tone was becoming. “It’s too important.” He was aware that he was almost openly begging by now, but he didn’t care. They both needed to do this, no matter the consequences. They would face them in the aftermath. “ _You_ are too important.”

Dean swallowed, still refusing to meet the angel’s eyes. Hell no. How could have he ever confessed such a thing? It wasn’t just embarrassing, bordering _humiliating_ , and it wasn’t just that he himself still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. There was the fear, crippling and paralysing, that the reality of facts could have made him lose Castiel completely, that his own voice would have torn the other away from him in a way that not even death had been able to achieve. Not yet at least. However, how was he supposed to say no, when his best friend was almost literally pleading him? Maybe not with his words, but the tone with which he had spoken had been achingly clear. He felt already guilty enough at the idea of being what was keeping Castiel from finding the peace of mind he deserved.

Swallowing quietly, he forced himself to move his gaze in the general direction of the other’s face, not really locking on those hypnotizing blue orbs, because he knew that, if he had even just touched them, it would have been the end, but close enough to be able to grasp whatever emotion was swirling underneath their surface. He needed something that could help him making a decision, a sign that could tell him whether or not he should reveal those feelings that still felt so out of place to him too.

What he saw made him freeze for a moment. There was confusion and worry in the angel’s expression, but those were hardly the most noticeable emotions, at least in Dean’s eyes. What caught his attention was the eager desperation and what he looked awfully like... _longing_. The feeling echoed inside him and rushed over his body, like a strong tidal wave that left behind a bright and addictive sentiment, something that he had lost and had just very recently rediscovered. Hope.

The hunter opened his mouth and closed it without a sound, feeling suddenly both the need to blurt everything out and to flee the room. He watched as Castiel inched closer, clearly by instinct and not consciously, at his own movements and he swallowed again. It was worth a try and he owed it to his best friend, for everything he had done for him and Sam in the past. For everything he had _meant._

“Cas, we...we went through a lot together. And Hell, that’s such an understatement,” he began, letting his eyes fall on the ground again. He wouldn’t have been able to speak a single word if he had kept looking at his companion. “All the crap we’ve seen, all the assholes we’ve fought...All the losses. The pain. The defeats and the wins that have never been really such.” He scoffed. He was sounding like an idiot. Why had he never asked his brother to teach him how to properly talk to people without making an ass of himself?

“What I’m trying to say is that...You’re family to me and Sam,” he resumed, but his voice was almost shaking now. “We told you a thousand times, but it never seems enough. Not to mention that at times we might act as if...as if it isn’t true, but that’s just because...because we’re idiots. And for that we don’t really deserve you. All you’ve done and sacrifice so much and...Damn, all the shit you’ve gone through because we all risked to wreck the world, in a way or the other.” He almost rolled his eyes. Now, that had sounded really pathetic. “Still, we mean it. Every time. Because you’re important too. For us. For me. And you’re family, but you see…What I mean is…I…”

He stopped again, trying to find a way to phrase it that wouldn’t be an explicit, open admission, but the words refused to come out and he was left there stuttering out a few more broken syllables. Eventually he just growled in frustration and gave up, not by choice but because he couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

Castiel, who had been literally hanging from the human’s lips since the first word the other had spoken, found himself frowning again. Dean’s unfinished sentence had left him feeling like he had been robbed of something precious and dear that should have belonged to him. It was an irrational thought, but it disturbed him deeply, just as his once again raising confusion did. There was that part of him that still seemed to be a breath away from understanding what his best friend was unable to express, but his mind couldn’t cover the small inch that separate him from comprehension and fulfillment. So, all that he was left to feel was frustration, the same one that the older Winchester had to be experiencing.

“Dean,” he spelled once again, his tone openly urgent this time. He loosened his fingers, which had still been balled into a fist, and reached out for the hunter’s arm, closing them around the patch of skin that his best friend’s jacket left uncovered.

There was so much he wanted to say and ask. He wanted to tell the man to look at him, to reassure him that, no matter what he would say, they would be fine, to remind him that nothing was enough to tear them apart. However, he remained quiet, too busy struggling with the anticipation that threatened to choke him on his own breath, and waited.

Dean, on his part, bit back a frustrated groan. He hated how the words eluded him, making him unable to speak his mind. He would have probably been able to spit out the bare facts, without beating around the bush, but he wasn’t ready for being directed just yet. He couldn't be that open with himself, inside his head, let alone with Castiel. Even if his confusion had finally started to fade away, there was still so much that he had to work out. He had a whole life of biases and conditioning to demolish. However, that would have to wait until later. Now, his attention was all focused on those deep blue eyes, which he knew were fixed on him, slightly disoriented and still asking for answers he couldn’t spell.  
  
“What I'm trying to say…Cas..." He tried one more time, but he ended up stumbling on his words again and finally decided that talking wasn’t the right way to go around the matter. He should have known since the start that he wouldn’t have managed to translate what he was feeling into a coherent speech. He wasn’t used to it, that was the truth. He didn’t even know where to start from. He had always been better with actions than with words.  
  
“Fuck it,” he hissed through his teeth. He would probably freak out about this, later, when he would have been sure that Castiel would be fine and when his head would have no longer been dizzy. Now, all he wanted, and _needed_ , was to feel him close enough, to make sure that the angel was alive and that he would stay where he was, where he _belonged_ . By his side, no matter what path they would end up walking. And he needed Castiel to know all that.  
  
He moved almost by instinct, before he had actually made up his mind completely. If he had stopped just another second to think about it, he would have probably chicken out and denied everything. _Again_. He knew himself too well.

With sharp pull he freed his wrist from his best friend’s grip, but instead of moving away he reached forward, shifting his body closer and fisting his hand tightly in Castiel’s shirt, his fingers getting a firm hold of the fabric. His other palm, instead, planted itself steadily on the angel’s cheek. He didn’t wait for a reaction and refused to meet the other’s eyes, preferring to close his own, not wanting to give himself a chance to back out. He heard Castiel’s breath hitching, but he ignored it, also because a moment later his lips were pressed against his best friend’s mouth. The contact was chaste but firm, purposeful and determined just as he had wished for his words, the ones he hadn’t been able to speak, to be.  
  
He broke away just a few moments later, even if they had felt much longer to him. The sensation of Castiel’s cool, chapped but still soft lips lingered on his skin and it took him all his self-control not to try and lick it away. He had kissed a lot of people in his life, too many to remember the exact number, and most of those kisses had been much less innocent than the one he had just experienced. Yet he had the feeling that, while most of the others would all fade away, eventually, the contact he and the angel had just shared, in that dark, hateful basement, would be a memory that would remain branded in his mind till the day he died.

“That’s what I meant,” he mumbled under his breath, awkwardly, quickly glancing away as his face was suddenly flooded with heat.

Castiel remained frozen on his spot after the hunter had moved away, too shocked to do anything but staring at his best friend. The kiss had left him feeling unsettled because, on one hand, he would have never thought that _this_ was what Dean had come to realise, but, at the same time, he had been somehow expecting it. Under the surprise, the feeling of the human’s body close to his vessel, closer and more intimate than it had ever be, had melted the tension that had been wrecking his nerves and had even soothed the disturbing coldness of his skin. The gesture and the unspoken feelings it confessed weren’t unwelcome. On the contrary. They were exactly what he had been longing for, deep down, even if he had never consciously allowed himself to admit it.

His expression softened, losing the harsh angles that the shock had painted on his face. The more he thought about it, the more _right_ it felt. Dean had been his light and the core of his faith since he had chosen to give up on Heaven and side humanity instead, during the Apocalypse. The hunter had been his reference point even when he had lost faith in his own Father, when he had felt like he didn’t belong anywhere, let alone in the realm that had once been his home. The man had showed him the meaning of free will and made him taste the bittersweet flavour that came with having to build your own path. Their bond was what had made him able to grasp what God had always seen in humans, why the Almighty had deemed them special enough to make him choose to sacrifice his favourite angel for their sake. The man had showed him why those fragile, finite creature were better, despite their flaws and their constant uncertainty. And, in Castiel’s eyes, the beauty of humanity was perfectly summed up in the tormented vices and in the worn qualities of that infuriating, beautifully complicated being that Dean Winchester was.

Biting back a smile so large that it would have surely been painful if he had let it spread on his lips, the angel stretched out an arm again, his fingers this time seeking out the human’s one. He felt the man stiffening under his touch, but the resistance lasted only a brief second and the hunter’s hand quickly melted into his own without further hesitation.

“I understand now, Dean,” he offered softly. This time, when he tried to meet his best friend’s eyes, the man stared back, even if with a hint of uncertainty. The warmth spread even more in his chest and the shadow of that bright smile appeared on his lips. “I truly do.”

Dean licked his lips, but nodded with determination and followed when the angel pulled his arm, a clear invitation to move closer again. His head was feeling lighter again, not because of his injury, but because both nervousness and excitement. He refused to acknowledge it, but his hands were shaking slightly once again as he wrapped his arms around Castiel body, pulling him in a tight hug, still cautious of the other’s wound.

The feeling of their bodies pressed together seemed to give the situation a bit more concreteness. They were both covered in sweat and dust and the air around them carried the heavy smell of mildew, but he was able to focus on the angel’s familiar scent. He had noticed it before, distractedly, but now it had somehow become more evident how Castiel seemed to smell like spring sunlight, under the more familiar scent of human skin.

Dean suddenly felt like he could breathe properly again. That was the path they had been more or less unconsciously following for quite some time by now and, while he didn’t doubt that it would be a complicated one, he could already tell that they would make it work, somehow. Whatever hardship or pain would be put in front of them, they would face it together, as they had done in the past. The only difference was that now there would be no unconscious secret left unspoken between them.

Castiel felt better and better himself as the human slowly relaxed against him. He had been afraid that the older Winchester could still freak out, even after everything that had just passed between them. He could tell that the man was still edgy, but now he had the certainty that, under the tension and the insecurities, Dean was feeling the same relief and lightness he himself was experiencing, wrapped in the strong arms of the being that meant, almost literally, the world to him.

In that moment it was easy to let his eyes slid shut and to stop thinking, forgetting everything. The uncomfortable feelings of his wounded vessel, the pain, the numbness. The memories that still hunted him and that would for a long time. All he wanted and could focus on was the rhythmic, loud, steady sound of his best friend’s heartbeat and the quiet pulsing of his soul, reminding him that they were both still alive, in spite of everything, against all the odds. Now, he had yet one more reason to want to make sure to keep it that way.

They broke away after several minutes, no awkwardness left in their movements as they both leant back against the wall, facing each other. Castiel’s eyes were bright, even without the Grace making them literally shining, and Dean was sporting the smuggest, most sincere grin he had been able to conjure in a very long time.

“Man, Sammy will never shut up about this,” the older Winchester commented, after a moment of comfortable silence, a hint of honest amusement in his voice. The idea of having a conversation with his brother didn’t thrill him, but he knew that Sam would understand. More than he had been able to do, more than he was still able to do. No matter how embarrassing the talk would have been, at the end of the day it would be worth it. He was almost completely sure.

The quiet, throaty laugh he received as an answer was exactly what he needed to wash away the shadow of the last doubt he had left. Oh, it would totally be worth the trouble.

 

*****

 

“This must be it. Just, let me…Dean? Cas? Are you in there?”

Sam’s voice broke the mostly comfortable silence that had filled the basement for the last ten minutes. Almost a whole hour had passed since when the angel and the older Winchester had found themselves trapped in the dusty, ill-lit room. Despite the sense of closure brought by the revelation that had passed between them, the tension had still lingered in the air till when, not much time before, Castiel had suddenly felt his Grace starting to return. They had instantly understood what had happened. Sam and Jack had to have managed to kill the witch and her magic had faded away together with her life.

A moment later, the heart rating monitor connected to the body on the makeshift bed had let out a piercing beeping sound, signaling that the man’s heart had stopped beating. The angel’s head had instantly snapped in the direction of the stranger, just in time to see a pulsing sphere of light lifting in the dim darkness, invisible to human eyes, but impossible to miss for him. The black thread that had been trapping the man’s soul inside the rotting corpse had dissolved, allowing it to freely fly away, towards the place where it rightly belonged.

“Yeah, Sammy! In here!” Dean answered in a loud voice, carefully pushing himself up on his feet. His head still spun whenever he moved, he had noticed while standing up to go and turn off the annoying monitor, but at least the pain had dulled. His best friend had offered to heal him as soon as his angelic powers had begun to return, but he had refused. He would have waited till Castiel would have fully recovered. Later, maybe, when there would have been no trace left of the scalpel that was now no longer stuck in the angel’s back and of the effects of the blood loss, he would have considered the offer.

“Get us out of here! I’m tired of sitting on my ass,” he finished as he reached the door, slamming the palm of his hand over it. He turned to shoot his best friend a slightly amused look. “Took you long enough. What were you guys doing, having a picnic with that bitch before you went down to business?”

The door shook slightly and then it finally pulled open, revealing the figures of the younger hunter and of the nephilim. Sam’s clothes were a bit untidy and he was sporting a small cut on his left temple, both most likely gained during his fight with the witch, while Jack looked more or less as he had that morning, aside from the fact that he seemed to be vibrating with victorious enthusiasm once again. The older Winchester could have sworn that he had spotted a hint of worry in the kid’s dark blue eyes, but the emotion faded as soon as Jack had made sure that, under their dusty and slightly bloody appearances, he and Castiel were safe and sound.

“We wouldn’t have had to come and get your asses out of this basement, if you hadn’t allowed the witch to kick them in the first place,” Sam joked in answer to his words, the smile on his face taking a relieved hue.

He had got worried when his brother hadn’t called him back, and finding out that he couldn’t reach neither the older man’s phone nor Castiel’s had just fed his concerns. He had been seriously pondering to leave the house and head to the museum to look for his two companions when the woman had suddenly made an appearance, forcing him to put aside his apprehension and focus on the upcoming fight.

The witch hadn’t been expecting them. She had most likely been thinking that she had temporarily got rid of all the hunters who were after her, now that she had dealt with Dean and Castiel, so she had been taken by surprise when he and Jack had met her on the doorstep. Her first reaction had been trying to deny, but it had soon become obvious that they knew what she was and what she had done. At that point her attitude had quickly changed, radically. She had become aggressive, dropping every pretence of good manners and of obliviousness. Even her already ghostly pale features had shifted, losing the last shreds of humanity they still had left to turn almost demonic.

The fight that had followed had been brief but messy and intense. There had been a few moments when Sam had feared that she could have managed to get away, when he had been slammed into a bookcase and had almost lost consciousness. Luckily, though, Jack had been able to hold the woman off and to distract her for long enough to give him the time to reach his gun and shoot her to death. The fact that the woman had been left astonished when she had realised that her curses didn’t work as they should have on the boy had definitely helped them winning. Lost as she had been in her rage and madness, she most likely hadn’t been able to fully realise that she was facing the most powerful creature she had ever landed her eyes on and that had made her even sloppier.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes, but he patted Sam’s chest as he moved past him, clearly eager to get out of that hateful room.

The younger Winchester, however, didn’t fail to notice how his brother almost instantly turned back towards the door, almost _greedily_ seeking Castiel with his eyes, and he also didn’t miss how readily the angel followed after the older hunter, aiming to go standing by his side. There had definitely been a shift in the atmosphere, and it was very noticeable, especially compared to how awkwardly the two had been tiptoeing around each other since when he and Dean had picked their angelic friend up the night before.

Sam blinked, a hint of surprise spreading in his chest as a strong suspicion entered his mind. His hazel eyes locked on Dean’s and Castiel’s retreating backs for a moment and then they moved in Jack’s direction, finding that the nephilim was staring at their companions curiously too. The boy eventually turned to meet his gaze and the younger hunter couldn’t help a small smirk as they shared a knowing look. Jack might be young and still very naive under some points of view, but he had already become pretty good at reading people, especially when it came to the ones he considered family. As for Sam himself, he survived literal _years_ dealing with the heavy tension between his brother and Castiel, so it was hardly surprising that he had been able to deduce so quickly what had to have happened between the two in that basement. He shook his head, biting back a chuckle that was both amused and relieved. Hopefully his misery would have soon been over. And it would have been about time.

 

*****

 

After a brief stop by the motel, to give Dean some time to clean up, the two Winchesters spent the next couple of hours wrapping up the loose ends of the case, while Castiel and Jack remained behind to get everything ready for their departure.

The local police force had retrieved the corpse of the witch’s brother from the basement and the autopsy was carried out as soon as the body was in the coroner’s hands. The examination revealed that the man had died after a bad fall, which had caused him to crack the side of his skull, and the wound had caused enough brain damage to kill him. No defense wounds or any other sign that could push to think that there had been a struggle ante mortem could be found on the body, even if it was hard to tell with absolute certainty, considering all the surgeries and the transplants the body had undergone. The formulated hypotheses were that the victim had either accidentally fell or had willingly jumped. The detective in charge of the case chose to give more credit to the second theory, mostly because, according to the victim’s most recent medical records, the man had already attempted suicide twice, in the weeks before his disappearance.

There was only one detail that the coroner couldn’t explain, meaning how the woman had managed to keep the body and especially the transplanted organs vital for all that time, without a proper, technological medical support. The corpse was showing an initial, generalised stage of decomposition, but nothing even close to the state in which it should have been, considering that the man should have been dead for weeks. Sam and Dean had exchanged a look at that point of the discussion, but they had avoided to speak. It had been hard enough to explain to the sheriff why they had been forced to kill the witch instead of arresting her.

When they were finally allowed to leave the station, the older Winchester couldn’t help noticing that there was a bitter, nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach and Sam had to be experiencing a similar one, judging from the look on his brother’s face. While that case had turned out to be without doubts a needed, meaningful experience and while it had met a happy ending, a few shots had come too close to home, especially for what Castiel and Dean were concerned. They had risked too much too soon, not giving to the still sore, open wounds time to start healing.

However, that wasn’t what was troubling the two men in that moment. The source of the unpleasant sensation in their chest was the tragic tale that had taken place behind the gory scenes of that hunt. All the facts and circumstances considered, the witch’s savage acts took a new, more disquieting and yet disturbingly understandable hue. She had taken her revenge on the people responsible for having made her brother so determined to take his own life that the man had tried over and over, till when, eventually, he had succeeded. Her choice to kill them and take their organs was a literal _and_ symbolic way to use their lives to bring back and repair the one they had so cruelly broken. It didn’t justify her actions in the least, but it almost made her motivations relatable. It was hard not to wonder how different the woman’s life could have been, if she hadn’t been indelibly marked by such a deep, unfair loss.

They found Castiel and Jack already waiting for them in the motel parking lot, bags in hand and ready to leave. There was nothing left for them to do in that town, so they didn’t waste more time and instantly hit the road to head back to the Bunker, stopping just briefly along the way to grab some late lunch that was consumed inside the familiar space of the Impala. Dean kept making sarcastic jokes about witches for half of the trip back, most likely to play down what they had experienced while working on the case, and Sam couldn’t help rolling his eyes each time his brother made a ill-placed pun. He had lived with the older hunter for too long to be able to even just pretend to appreciate the other’s macabre humour. Especially after a hunt.

However, in spite of everything, once again the younger Winchester didn’t miss the still unwavering, new, stabler and warmer shift in his sibling’s attitude, the same he had noticed when they had left the basement. Just as he noticed the still lingering, brighter light in Castiel’s eyes and how the two men kept sharing glances through the rear mirror when they thought that no one was watching. The sight made him smirk to himself once again and he had to turn towards the window and cover his mouth with a hand, to hide his grin. Dean would be in for a lot of teasing, as soon as he and the angel would have grown accustomed to the change in their relationship. However, that didn’t mean that Sam would have just dropped the subject and pretended that nothing happened.

The roar of the Impala echoed in the Bunker’s garage as Dean drove the car in and parked, before killing the engine. The older hunter hummed under his breath the last notes of the song that had been playing on the radio and then drummed his fingers on the wheel. “It’s good to be home!” He claimed in an almost cheerful tone, opening the door on his side. “Now, after all those disgusting spells, I really need a beer. And some chill time.”

“I thought you were still hungover,” Sam teased back, getting off in turn and walking around the car to open the trunk. “Jack told me that you weren’t looking good when you got to the motel last night.”

He ignored the middle finger he was showed and handed to Castiel one of the bags, turning to watch the angel as he led Jack towards the stairs, a hand resting between the kid’s shoulder blades. His lips curved into a smile at the sight, glad that the two had managed to bond so quickly. They both deserved it. Their angelic friend had earned the right to have some light in his life after having spent weeks in the most complete darkness and the nephilim needed to have the person he had already learnt to call “father” standing side by side.

His grin only widened when he turned to look at his brother, noticing that the hint of irritation the other had shown at his teasing was already gone and forgotten. It seemed to be the right moment to test the waters.

“You're in a good mood, aren’t you?” Sam inquired, keeping his tone studedly casual not to scare his sibling off from the beginning.

Dean turned to face the younger man at those words, the hint of a frown forming on his face. He could already tell what was coming for him: a chick flick chat. If he had to be honest with himself he had been wondering why Sam hadn’t spoken a word yet. He had caught a few of the amusement glances the other had been shooting him since when he and Jack had rescued him and Castiel. Apparently the younger hunter had been waiting for them to be alone, before speaking his mind. He had to bit back a groan at the thought. He loved his brother, but he really hated how awfully perceptive was at times.

“Yeah. And?” He asked, in a tone that bordered defiance, but that didn’t carry any trace of hostility. He didn’t want to talk about what had passed between him and his best friend in that basement. He wasn’t ready. He still had a lot to work out, with both himself and Castiel, before he could even just come close to be. However, at the same time, he didn’t feel like shutting his brother out again, not after how he had treated him in the last few weeks. Sam deserved better than that kind of behaviour and he could recognise that, now that most of the darkness was gone.

Sam raised his hands, in a pacifying gesture. “Nothing. No, no, I-I-I just...Uh, you've been having a rough go, so it’s just...good to see you smile.” He made sure to pick his words carefully, even though this time Dean, despite the slight intimidating hue in his tone, didn’t look like he was going to cut the conversation off immediately. He had all the intentions to exploit the opening he was being offered.

“Well, I said that I needed a big win. We got Cas back. That’s a pretty damn big win.” Dean answered truthfully, even if there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. However, even in spite of that, he wasn’t able to hide the small smile that appeared on his face at the simple mention of Cas. As confusing and still slightly troublesome his real feelings for the angel were, they still made him feel... _brighter_ .

“Yeah. Fair enough.” Feeling reassured by the lack of attacks, Sam smirked just slightly at Dean’s words, glad to see his brother opening up about his emotions. He didn’t expect the older hunter to speak plainly, of course, because that wouldn’t be like him, but even just seeing him willing to have that conversation was a little miracle.

“That’s not all, though, right? He’s not...just a win?” He pushed, without losing the caution in his tone, wanting to get as much as he could out of Dean without making him mad or turning their talk into a fight.

The older Winchester hesitated once again at the question. He seriously considered to pretend that he didn’t know what Sam was talking about or to crack a joke that would still tell everything and nothing. It would have been the easiest solution and he knew that his brother wouldn’t have pushed, since they both knew that he had never liked talking things out anyway. However, the way in which Sam had phrased his inquiries told him clearly that his brother already knew the answer and that he was just looking for a confirmation. Or, maybe, he was just asking to make Dean himself admit it out aloud, more for his own sake than for the one of the younger man. Lying about what was already obvious wouldn’t have helped any of them.

“No, he’s not,” he finally admitted, after a few moments of silence, looking away and licking his lips in a show of nervousness. His shoulders were a little tense, but he tried to force himself to relax. “Cas and I… We had a talk. Realised few stuff, before any of us die again so… We’re good.” He nodded, more to himself than to his brother. “Yeah. More than good, actually. Great.”

Sam’s smile grew wider again at that reply. He could have considered himself satisfied, since the subtly admission he had obtained was more than what he could get out of Dean on a normal day. There were still many questions he would have liked to ask and he felt torn over the impulse to throw them out, because, as much as he was eager for answers, he knew that one false step could have sent his brother straight back into the denial the other was trying so hard to dismiss.

“Hey guys? You still there?” Jack’s voice called out from the stairs, before the younger Winchester could make up his mind, sparing him from the trouble to make a decision. Perhaps it had been for the best. Maybe, in the next days, they would get a better chance to resume that conversation and finish it properly, but for now they all deserved a break.

A moment later, the nephilim had stormed inside the room excitedly. He was wearing one of his broad, naive grins and his eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. “Hey! Can we maybe turn on that projector Sam found and watch a movie?”

The two Winchesters shared a look. That projector was an ancient piece of crap for the most, Dean’s own words, so they doubted that they would have managed to find a way to watch modern movies on it. However, they would come up with something, because they couldn’t have said no to the hopeful, awfully effective puppy eyes Jack was offering them. The older hunter couldn’t help thinking that kid was already starting to master the expression almost as much as Sam had.

And that’s how the four of them ended up spending the rest of the afternoon in the library. The table and the chairs had been moved aside, so that they could all sit on the floor on a bunch of pillows and blankets they had laid down. The projector had been set on the other table and pointed towards the wall, just as they had done the previous times they had used it. Sam had miraculously managed to find a movie, among the bunch of dusty, old tapes that were stashed away in the Bunker’s archive, while Dean had insisted to get fresh popcorns and cool beers for everything, since, in his opinion, you couldn’t watch a movie properly without those two essential supplies.

Jack took the spot between Sam and Castiel, while Dean sat down next to the angel. The hunter hesitated for a moment before shifting slightly and slowly more and more closer, clearly failing at not drawing attention because both his brother and his best friend turned to shoot him looks, while the nephilim, luckily for Dean’s pride, was too absorbed in the starting movie to notice his pathetic attempts at being subtle. Sam rolled his eyes at him, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and amusement before turning his attention back to the projected scenes. Castiel, on his part, just tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in an inquisitive look, confused about what the human was trying to do.

Dean felt his face heating up a bit and he once again felt grateful for the luck of light that covered his expression and the small hint of redness on his cheekbones, as he had been a few hours before in the basement. He closed his eyes for a moment, muttering a curse very quietly through his teeth and then decided that he should just stop caring about what the others might or might not think. He was making a fool of himself and he also had no reason to be worried. He didn’t have to hide from Sam and Jack, since the two were most likely even more ecstatic than he was about the development in his and Castiel’s relationship, so he should just try to relax and have a good time, for once.

Those thoughts brought a determined expression on his face and he followed the wave of determination he had just gained, before he chickened out again. He shifted even closer to his best friend, covering the few inches that still separated their bodies, and then wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gently pulling him in and trying not to feel like he was an awkward teenager on his very first date. With all the experience he had had in that field, he should be past that phase, even if this thing with the angel, whatever name it would take, wouldn’t be like any of his previous romantic and sexual entanglements.

Castiel blinked again at the hunter, when the latter finally made his move, but his perplexed expression quickly turned into a pleased, slightly amused grin as he let the human to pull  him closer, his head going to rest on Dean’s shoulders. He had seen humans sharing that kind of poses and closeness many times, but he had to admit that he had never thought that such a simple, innocent act could feel so good and bring so much inner warmth.

Careful not to move, because he could tell that the older Winchester was still a bit on the edge under his mostly relaxed attitude, he glanced in Sam’s and Jack’s direction and then up towards Dean’s face. It was rare to see them all looking so _carefree_ , especially after everything that had happened in the last few years. The two hunters’ eyes had lost most of the haunted hardness that they usually sported and, while the shadows and the marks were still there, indelible and unforgettable, in that moment the light seemed to prevail above the darkness and dried blood.

His gaze slowly returned towards the makeshift screen, blue orbs sparkling slightly. The future ahead of them would never be easy and perhaps not even beautiful, but if they could keep clinging on small, precious moments like the current and if they could have the strength to keep fighting, then the light would eventually find them. Because, at the end of the day, in a world ruled by free will and personal choices, most miracles weren’t gifted by an external saving hand, but they were born from within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. We really hope that you have enjoyed this little ride. Questions and comments of every sort (as long as we respect each other) are welcome and encouraged. Let us know what you think!


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